


A Hero in the Age of Chaos

by clicky797



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Eventual Romance, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Modern AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining!Sorey, Robbery, Slow Burn, SorMik, Sorey is a superhero, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:45:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clicky797/pseuds/clicky797
Summary: Sorey is just trying to live his life like any other teenager. He’s studying Ancient History at Ladylake university, he’s hopelessly pining after his best friend, and he’s constantly avoiding the media attention that comes with being the grandson of the city’s wealthiest tycoon. Then he gets superpowers, and everything becomes a whole lot more complicated.





	1. Chapter1

Zaveid was late. 

Sorey had worked out the perfect routine with his driver. After his lectures finished for the day, he’d leave through the door at the back of the building and wait by the bike shelter, next to the road. Where a not-so-subtle limousine would be waiting to whisk him away from the campus and the reporters, who tended to lurk close by. 

But today, the limo wasn’t there. Sorey ducked under the shelter and pulled down the scarf that he’d worn cover the lower half of his face, careful to not get the material caught on his long, feather earrings. He quickly checked his phone. Had there been a change of plan? Was this routine no longer a secret one?

“Sorey! Sorey! Over here!”

Startled, he looked up and saw a woman running towards him, holding a microphone. Her cameraman was only just managing to keep up with the bulky piece of equipment resting on his shoulder. It was just as he’d feared. Someone must have tipped them off about his escape plan. He saw more reporters rounding the corner of the building, their features obscured by a barrage of camera flashes. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he ran for it. 

“Sorey! Sorey, please! Just one moment to comment on the recent success of your company’s latest venture!”

He cringed at this. Elysia Corp wasn’t his company, it was Gramps’. Though it would be his one day, when Gramps... he didn’t want to think about that. Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He threw open the door he’d come through, not even two minutes ago, and kept running. Where could he go? It would need to be somewhere private, so he could call Zaveid and figure out where his driver was. But not somewhere that would give him no escape route should the reporters keep up. 

“Sorey! Sorey!”

The calls were fainter now. He was losing them. A part of him felt guilty at having to ignore them like that, but Gramps had warned him not to say anything to them. He knew what Sorey was like: a kind but naive soul, who would end up giving those vultures more than he knew he was. It was simpler just to say nothing, and wait for them to give up. 

To be honest, Sorey didn’t know why they still bothered with him. There were much more important things to be reporting on, like the recent crime spree. Men, dressed in black and wearing horrifying, grotesque animal masks, had robbed almost every jewellery store in Ladylake, making off with valuables worth millions. They had been donned ‘Hellions’ by the police, and were suspected to be working for Calamity Lord. 

Now that was a name he’d been hearing a lot. Almost every night on the news, in fact. _Missing researchers feared victims of Calamity Lord. Calamity Lord blows up new police headquarters. Seven missing in latest Calamity Lord attack._ The head of police, Commissioner Alisha Diphda, was doing everything in her power to find and neutralise the villain, but it was a hopeless cause. Calamity Lord was no ordinary man. 

The first time Sorey had seen him was a few months ago, when he’d been watching a historic documentary with his best friend, Mikleo. The picture had gone static and pixelated, and then the image burst into a monstrous face, more beast than man. All the lights in the room fizzled out, leaving only the eerie, purple glow of the screen. It hadn’t just been them. Every screen in Ladylake had suffered the same fate as Calamity Lord made himself known to them.

His message: he was here to enslave the city, and if anyone tried to resist him, they would be eliminated. Ever since then, the news had been dominated by reports of his carnage. It soon became apparent that the villain possessed a dark power, one which allowed him to kill the lights and twist the minds of those he touched, making them into his Hellions. 

One thing was certain: he needed to be stopped. His crimes were growing more and more violent, and soon, Sorey knew something terrible was going to happen to Ladylake. The only good thing to come from that first night was how tightly Mikleo had clung to him when the screen changed. 

_Mikleo... that’s it!_

Sorey knew exactly where he could go to hide from the reporters. He took a left to cut through the canteen, pulling the chairs out behind him as he went to slow his pursuers down. After that, it was a quick climb up the stairs, a right down the corridor, and then through the double doors at the end. 

He found himself in the library, one of Ladylake university’s greatest attractions. However, ever since the university had published their collection as e-books, it was severely underused. He went to the history section and plonked himself down on one of the beanbag chairs. There was no way the reporters would find him here. Even if they did somehow manage to navigate their way through the sprawling columns of books, the librarian would throw them out the moment they started bombarding him with questions. Sorey grinned.

It had been two weeks since Mikleo came to visit him. Of course, the library had been his favourite thing about the university. When Sorey came out of his lectures, he’d found Mikleo sitting where he currently was now, a book open on his lap, the light from the window catching the blue tips of his white hair. It had been a struggle to look away, but he’d been painfully aware of the librarian watching him with an amused smirk. Speaking of the librarian...

“Wow, back again already? It's amazing - you wait for someone to visit for so long and then suddenly you get the same person twice in under a month. Weird."

Well, the peace had been nice while it lasted. Sorey lifted his eyes to the short, blonde-haired librarian, who was pretending to reorder some of the books. Just so she could be here to harass him. 

“What brings you this time?” she asked. “It can’t be to see your friend. You haven’t got that disgusting smile on your face.”

“I came to borrow a book of course,” Sorey said, jumping to his feet. 

“Shush!” the librarian put a finger to her lips. “No talking in the library.”

“But you just-”

“Shush! The rules are for commoners. I’m the library’s overlord, so I am exempt.”

“Okay,” Sorey said, as quietly as he could. “I’ll just take my book and go.”

He plucked one randomly from the closest shelf, one with a red leather cover. Then he saw a brown one with ‘Celestial Record’ printed in gold on the spine. He picked that one out instead and put the red book in its place. The librarian’s eyebrows twitched as she glared at him through her glasses. 

“You better not be planning to leave it like that,” she fumed. “Do you have any idea how much time it takes ensuring all these dumb books are in their proper order? I swear to god if I had my umbrella I’d give you such a thumping.”

Before Sorey could correct his mistake, his phone began to ring. The music echoed through the library. 

“Oh, that is it!” The librarian shoved him towards the exit. “Out! Out! Out! And don’t think I won’t remember your face. You better not come back without a box of apology chocolates and a card. I like dark chocolate best, by the way. And address the card to Edna.”

The door slammed behind him. Sorey chuckled to himself. Chocolates indeed. There was no way he’d ever need to go back. It suddenly occurred to him that he still had the Celestial Record. Oh well. He could always post it back through the drop-off slot once he was finished with it. His phone started to ring again, and this time he was able to answer it. 

“Kid!” Zaveid’s familiar voice boomed. “Where are you? Oh god, didn’t you get my message?”

“No,” Sorey said. “Did you send one?”

His phone chimed melodically. He lowered it from his ear, and sure enough, there was one new message from Zaveid. He sighed and opened it. 

_Kid, back exit is a no go. Meet round front instead. Z._

That would have been nice to know a few hours ago. 

“Are you still out front?” he asked, already mapping his way through the corridors. 

“Yep. But the reporters have clocked me. Looks like we’ll need to figure out a new plan for next time.”

“Agreed,” Sorey mumbled. 

He weighed his options. He could go to the front now, and shoulder his way through the reporters. They’d get a few pictures of him, but he’d keep his lips sealed, so no story to go along with it. _You know that won’t stop them. They’ll just make something up._ Asking Zaveid to meet him somewhere else was out of the question. They’d just follow him. So that only left...

“I’m going to walk,” he decided.

“You sure, kid? It’s quite a way back.”

“It’ll be fine,” he insisted. 

Specifically, he’d walk to Ladylake museum. Mikleo would be ending his shift soon, so maybe he’d be able to sway his friend into giving him a lift home. Then he could invite him in, and they’d stay up till midnight watching cheesy documentaries while eating their weight in junk food. He felt warmth flutter in his chest at the thought. 

“Alright. Well, make sure you text me when you’re home. Zenrus will have my head if he finds out I left you to walk.”

He’d have Sorey’s head too if he discovered he’d been foolish enough to do so, especially during these uncertain times. But the potential to spend the evening with Mikleo made the risk worth it. 

  

Ladylake museum was certainly one of the city’s gems. Designed to look like ancient ruins, as depicted in the tapestries they’d uncovered from that age, the building was a combination of white brick and smooth glass. Half a small moat had been dug around it, circling around the back of the museum and running parallel to the tiled pathway, until it met the street. As Sorey walked down the path, a neat bed of blue flowers on either side, he could already spy some of the museum’s treasures on the upper level: stone tablets from the era of Asgard, weapons forged during the temperance of Avarost, and delicate relics that had survived the Age of Chaos. But the most exciting artifacts would have pride of place in the exhibition gallery, right at the back of the museum. 

Sorey thought he might try and sneak a quick look at the current exhibition, the one Mikleo kept gushing over whenever the topic came up. It was an homage to the old myths and legends of Ladylake. Mikleo said it contained personal belongings of the woman who died and became the Lady of the Lake, a so-called ghost who brought luck to those who saw her. Then there were tools that had been constructed in an attempt to see the seraphim, thought to be spirits of nature, and the traditional garbs worn by those revered individuals, who possessed the ability to communicate with them. Even an original pair of feather earrings, the ones that Sorey’s were a replica of, were on display. 

However, when he arrived at the entrance to the exhibition, there was a metal grate over the doorway. Closed already? That left him nothing to do but find Mikleo. Which wouldn’t be difficult, seeing as how he could already hear his angry voice echoing down the hall. 

“You think my accusations are unfounded? How dare you! How can you look me in the eye and say that you honestly believe that! You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“And what, pray tell, would that be?”

Sorey peered around the corner and winced at the sight. It looked like Mikleo was in yet another conflict with the museum’s director, Heldalf. The older man was twice his size, and just as bulky, with a thick beard and a squared forehead. But his stubborn friend wasn’t letting that intimidate him. His delicate hands were balled into fists at his side, his lean body leaning towards Heldalf, as if he could back him into a corner. Heldalf just looked bored. 

“You are deliberately sabotaging the exhibit! Why close it at four? You _know_ the exhibit’s target audience are students and young people, and they can’t get here till at least after five! Of course the numbers are low! How can they be high when no one can get in!”

“We had an extremely high turnout during opening week,” Heldalf said. “I’m happy to admit that. But now interest in this kind of thing has waned, so there’s no use keeping it running when there are plenty of alternatives to fill that space.”

“Alternatives! What, like your precious Age of Chaos relics? You don’t have enough of that war memorabilia to fill a room that size!”

“Which is precisely why certain artifacts from the old exhibit will be auctioned off, to raise funds for a new expedition to increase the museum’s collection. The numbers don’t lie, Mikleo. This is what the people are interested in. You’ve seen the charts.”

“You mean the charts you filled in yourself?” Mikleo’s purple eyes were positively ferocious. Sorey felt a pleasant thrill run through him at the sight. “Forgive me, director, for not trusting numbers that conveniently work in favour of your agenda. I’ve seen conflicting results with my own eyes! People don’t want to be reminded of war when the city is in terror from villainy! They want to be inspired! To take hope from old legends about saviours and miracles! And you want to take that away from them and put it in the private collections of some rich idiots?”

“I swear, Mikleo. If I didn’t have such great respect for your uncle-”

“ _Don’t you dare_!” Mikleo snarled, jabbing one of his long fingers into Heldalf’s chest. “Don’t you even _insinuate_ that my uncle is the reason I have this job! I am the most competent employee you have! You gave me this position because no one else possesses my extensive knowledge, and if you think I’m about to stand back while you undo all my hard work-”

“You’re right.” Heldalf lazily batted his hand away. “You are competent. And your exhibit was a success. For a short while. And in that short while, the artifacts that _you_ hand-picked for the display caught the attention of private collectors. You have allowed this museum to sacrifice a small array of relics to further its expeditions and research. Can’t you be happy about that? Now let it go.”

“No!” 

Sorey checked his watch. Maybe he should just walk home. It didn’t feel right after this to suddenly appear and ask for a lift. Mikleo was clearly already swamped by other issues. 

“Don’t force my hand,” Heldalf warned, his eyes narrowing. “I will fire you if I must.”

“And I’ll go straight to the paper and tell them about your corruption! The only reason you have for closing the exhibit is to gain funds for your own interests. I’m sure they’d love to hear all about that.” 

Both men fell silent. Sorey took the opportunity to sneak back to the lobby. He cleared his throat, like he’d only just arrived, much to the confusion of the lady at the help desk. 

“Mikleo? Are you here?”

It didn’t take long for footsteps to sound down the corridor. But the person who rounded the corner wasn’t the one who Sorey wanted to see. 

“Mr. Elysia,” Heldalf smiled, opening out his arms like he was greeting an old friend. “What a delightful surprise.”

He stopped walking in favour of lounging against the help desk, as if he were in his own home instead of a publicly funded museum. Sorey was alarmed when he didn’t hear any other footsteps approaching in the brief silence. He looked Heldalf in the eye, sickened by the suave casualness he saw there. Sorey wasn’t a violent man, but if Heldalf had done any harm to Mikleo then he’d...

“Sorey?” 

He tried not to seem surprised when his friend came into sight. As usual, Mikleo moved with all the grace of a flowing stream. Each step was elegant and light, no sound made when his black shoes met the polished tiles. He could have been a gliding spirit, like the seraphim in those old legends. 

There was no trace of the previous conflict in Mikleo’s expression. Of course, he’d never want to burden Sorey with such trivial matters. He’d always been like that. It was why he hadn’t allowed his uncle Michael, also a wealthy individual, to pay for his university tuition. He’d opted instead to get a job here at the museum, where he could save up to pay his own way. 

But this time, Sorey didn’t want to let Mikleo fight alone. He had influence. It was about time he used it to do some good. Giving his friend a reassuring smile, he turned back to Heldalf. He mirrored the expression he’d seen Gramps use in business meetings - hard eyes, lips pressed together, a sharp tone. 

“I came to see the exhibit,” he said, casting a glance over to the security grate. “But it seems I am too late. Such a shame. I’ve heard wonderful things about it. My people say whoever put it together is a true visionary.”

Okay, maybe he was overdoing it. _His people?_ Who did he even mean by that? Zaveid? He certainly couldn’t imagine Zaveid getting enthusiastic about anything in the museum, except maybe that tapestry which depicted ladies bathing in ancient saunas... But it was worth it to see the brief frustration in Heldalf’s eyes as he turned to the grate himself, and inadvertently met Mikleo’s knowing gaze. 

“I’m so sorry, _Mr. Elysia_ ,” Mikleo made sure to put plenty of emphasis on that prestigious name. “But our director has decided to-”

“Open it especially for you.” Heldalf was quick to block Mikleo from Sorey’s line of vision. He gave him a toothy smile. “A private viewing, if you will. Nothing but the best for an Elysia. Mikleo, fetch the key.”

The second Mikleo left the lobby, Heldalf slung an arm around Sorey’s shoulders and drew him close. He resisted the urge to pull away.

“In case anything takes your fancy,” he said quietly. “Just know that we plan to auction some of the relics off in a couple of weeks. It’ll be a small auction, only a select clientele will be invited to participate, but all funds from the event will be going to a worthy cause. If you’re interested, I can of course ensure that an invitation finds its way to you.”

“Thank you,” Sorey said. 

He meant it as a passing courtesy, but Heldalf gave him a grin that stretched his entire face, and nodded at the lady on the help desk. She jotted something down on an unseen notepad, and Sorey realised with horror that Heldalf had taken his thank you as a ‘thank you, put me down on your list’. And before he could clear up this misunderstanding, Mikleo had returned. 

There was a grinding echo as the lock slid out of place, and then Mikleo was cranking the handle to raise the grate. Amidst the clanging, Heldalf nodded at Sorey, a promise that he would be in touch, and left the boys to their exhibit. 

It struck Sorey as odd that he seemed so sure the artifacts would be auctioned. Hadn’t he just been rattled into silence by Mikleo’s threat to go to the paper? Unless he was planning to find a legitimate reason for closing down the exhibit... Mikleo smirked at him. 

“You didn’t hear a word of what I said just now, did you?” he said.

Sorey blinked owlishly. He kept doing that lately, although normally his thoughts weren’t on Heldalf. They would be on his friend, on the way his long lashes lowered when he was concentrating, how he would bite the tip of his lower lip ever so slightly when trying not to smile, how his voice became breathless when he was telling Sorey about his theories on the Asgard era, or Avarost, or any of the other historic ages they both shared a deep interest in. If only Mikleo was in his lectures as well. Learning about history wasn’t as enjoyable without him.

“I said,” Mikleo spoke clearly, not wishing to repeat himself a third time, “thank you. For what you did back there. With Heldalf.”

“It was no problem,” Sorey insisted, the praise almost making him flush. “I really did want to see the exhibit.”

“Sure.”

They walked together into the exhibition gallery. Everything was laid out on low tables, so even children could see them. The glass cases had no smudges on them, making Sorey almost forget they were there. As he bent to read one of the information panels, he automatically recognised Mikleo’s wording and phrases. It was quite amazing, really, that he’d been allowed such a responsibility. Especially when he was constantly bickering with his boss. 

“So I’m assuming the reporters found your escape route again,” Mikleo said, leaning against the wall while he watched Sorey read. “You really do need to find the person who keeps tipping them off.”

“I don’t mind. It keeps me on my toes. And gives me a good excuse to visit.”

“Have you considered that I might be their anonymous tipper?” There was a mischievous light to his eyes. “I have the agenda, after all. Having you drop by when Heldalf is in the middle of his rants certainly has its uses.”

Sorey pretended to frown. He didn’t want Mikleo to know he’d been eavesdropping on him. 

“You had another argument?” he said.

“It was hardly an argument. He had no leg to stand on.”

Sorey came to a display case with a white, fingerless glove in. Although tattered and faded, he could still see the faint, golden insignia in the middle of the fabric. A ring of red beads was sewn around the opening, with two orange feathers and a knot of turquoise rope tied on at the side. 

“You know, that’s my favourite piece in this entire exhibit.” Mikleo’s voice was sudden and close enough to make him jump. He was staring at the glove sadly. “I’m still not completely sure what its purpose was, but the insignia matches symbols often found on the coats made for those who could communicate with the seraphim.”

“Maybe it was meant as an extra symbol of power? Like a medal given to a soldier?”

“Perhaps. It’s strange, they only found the one glove in the ruins. Dozens of the coats and all the other clothing, but only one glove.”

“Did the seraphim-speakers have a leader? Perhaps this was his?”

“We’ll never know for sure.” Mikleo’s shoulder sagged. “Do you want to know what I think, Sorey?”

“Always.” Gods, did he really just say that out loud?

“I think whoever wore this glove wasn’t just a seraphim-speaker. I think they were a warrior. That the seraphim fought alongside them. In the Age of Chaos.”

“The Age of Chaos?” Sorey knew from his lectures that the first seraphim legends weren’t documented till after this age had ended. How could seraphim have possibly existed in such a time?

“The legends after that age always say the same thing.” Mikleo wasn’t looking at the glove anymore. He was staring through the window, at the skyscrapers in the distance. There was smoke rising between some of them. Another attack in the name of Calamity Lord. “That a hero will rise in the time of darkness. That he will use the power of the seraphim to end malevolence. I wish those stories were true, Sorey. If ever there was a second coming of the Age of Chaos, it’s now. The people are terrified. They need someone to lead them away from their fear.”

“What, like a shepherd leading sheep?” Sorey grinned.

Mikleo gave him a tired smile. 

“I guess. Do you understand what I’m saying, Sorey? We need a shepherd.” Mikleo brushed his fingers against the display case, like he was trying to caress the glove. “That’s why this exhibit is so important,” he said. “We need stories. We need to believe in the impossible to feel that we have a chance at peace. But Heldalf doesn’t understand that. And if he gets his way, soon this glove and all the other relics will be in places where they can’t inspire anyone.”

In that moment, Mikleo looked to Sorey like a bird who’d had its wings clipped. Helpless, fragile, and yet still beautiful enough for someone to want to keep in a cage. He couldn’t stand seeing his friend like this. He swore, in that moment, that if Heldalf successfully held the auction, he would damn well win that glove. For Mikleo. 


	2. Chapter 2

_“That boy over there looks sad. Shall we ask if he wants to play with us?”_

_“No! My daddy says that his grandpa is very mean and scary. I don’t want to be shouted at if we don’t let him win.”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“He’s right, Mikleo. I already had to let him have the last cheese sandwich at lunch. I don’t want to have to let him win all our games.”_

_“Yeah. Then it’s no fun for anyone!”_

_Sorey could hear every word the other children said. They never wanted to play with him. The only time they played together was when he asked then, and in those instances he knew they’d rather be anywhere else but with him. Even among children, the name Elysia carried weight. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, burying his face deeper in his book._

_He’d never even wanted to be an Elysia. It was all because of what had happened that night, the night that his parents didn’t come home. No one back in Camlann treated him different. It was all because Gramps had forced him to come live here, in Ladylake. He hated Ladylake. He hated the school. He hated that his parents still hadn’t come back for him. He hated it all!_

_“Hi there.”_

_He looked up at the friendly voice. The new boy, Mikleo, stood over him. Even though it was sunny enough for Sorey to be wearing orange shorts and his favourite black t-shirt, the other boy was dressed in a long blue raincoat which was far too big for him. It had billowing sleeves and a high collar, which almost hid his chin. He even had matching wellies on._

_Even though it was a silly thing to be wearing, Sorey couldn’t help but find it... cute. Mikleo was fidgeting with his hands behind his back, and peering over the high collars seemed to be a constant struggle for the small boy. It reminded Sorey of a little tortoise who couldn’t get his head far enough out of his shell._

_“What are you reading?” Mikleo asked, tilting his head._

_Sorey held up the book so he could see the cover. It had a big dragon on the front. Mikleo frowned._

_“Why are you reading that?”_

_“I like history,” Sorey admitted._

_“I don’t understand.” The other boy’s frown deepened, his tiny eyebrows scrunching together. “If you like history then why read a book about dragons? They never existed.”_

_Now it was Sorey’s turn to frown._

_“Yes they did.”_

_“No they didn’t.”_

_The other children gasped. Even Sorey was surprised. No one ever argued with him. Not even the teachers. The other children began looking around, as if fearing Gramps would appear out of the shadows like a monster. He puffed out his chest as Mikleo continued to frown at him._

_“Yes they did,” he said again._

_“Only in myth though,” Mikleo quickly said. “There are lots of records of legends and songs about dragons, and even pictures of them on some of the tapestries. But nothing has ever been uncovered that proved they were actual living creatures. They were probably just symbols of misfortune and disease.”_

_Sorey thought he understood what Mikleo was saying, even if he didn’t know what some of the words he used meant. Still, he didn’t agree._

_“Well what about seraphim,” he said. “There are just as many stories about them, and no proof, but people still believe they existed.”_

_He’d closed his book by now, and Mikleo was sitting next to him. Now he looked like a penguin, with his knees tucked under his coat and the tips of his wellies sticking out._

_“But seraphim can’t leave physical proof because they’re not physical beings,” Mikleo said. “So it’s more understandable. But if there was a big dragon flying around, I think we’d at least have found some scales or teeth.”_

_“But relics from the Age of Chaos are rare. So there might still be all those things out there. We just haven’t found them yet.”_

_“Well until we_ have _found them, I won’t believe that dragons existed.”_

_“And until we search every ruin in the world and haven’t found them, I_ will _believe they existed.”_

_By the time the bell rung, they still hadn’t reached an agreement on the matter. Mikleo promised he would find Sorey at lunch and show him the book his uncle had given him. That would prove he was right. Sorey promised to save a seat for him. For once, hate was the furthest thing from his mind._

*

“You have got to be kidding me.” Mikleo sighed dramatically. “If you honestly believe that, then I don’t think we can continue this friendship.”

“Don’t get moody just because you can’t deny it,” Sorey teased. “You’ve seen the proof. You have to concede.”

Mikleo’s eyes widened with horror at the thought. 

“Concede to that? Never!” 

“Oh, come on!” 

Sorey held up the DVD in question. It was an adventure series, based on a game that the two of them had lost entire weekends to when they were younger. They’d been thrilled to hear that it would be adapted into an animated series. And one season later, Sorey was spellbound by both the stunning animation and the approach the show had taken in expanding both characters and plot points that the game had glossed over. Mikleo, on the other hand...

“Just face it, Sorey. The game was better. There’s no contest.”

“But the visuals!” Sorey exclaimed, resisting the urge to knock the DVD case against his friend’s head until he saw sense. “Seeing the characters come to life in such detail and colour! You can’t tell me you didn’t feel more involved. You can’t convey that level of emotional depth through low-graphic pixels!”

“But they changed the story too much,” Mikleo huffed. “I understand that it had to progress differently outside the game, but still!”

“You’re just bitter because they cut out your favourite scenes.”

“So what if I am? Those scenes are very vital in establishing the relationship between the characters. By cutting them out, they made the characters’ importance lesser to the plot. I mean, seriously! The hero is traveling with three supernatural beings who can manipulate the elements, and you hardly see them do anything!” Mikleo pulled a face. “And what was up with that ending?”

Sorey chuckled, resting his head on the back of the sofa. 

“Okay, I have to agree with you there,” he admitted. “But it was that character’s final farewell. They had to give her a good sendoff.”

“By making it seem like she was the hero’s love interest?” Mikleo shook his head. “They should be ashamed of themselves.”

“Well, who should it have been then?” Sorey dared to ask. He stood, suddenly restless. “The hero never had one in the game.”

Mikleo rose from him space on the floor, where he’d been riffling through Sorey’s collection of DVDs. Ever since they were children, Saturday night had been movie night. It had started out alternating between both of their homes, but now it was always at Sorey’s manor. There was more space and, most importantly, a bigger television. Sorey gulped as Mikleo sauntered towards him, a smile on his face that was half mischievous, half seductive. 

“That’s easy,” his friend crooned. “It should have been the best friend, of course.”

“The best friend?” Sorey sounded dazed even to his own ears. 

How was it fair for Mikleo to have this effect on him? Thinking back, it’d always been like this. His friend would give him that narrow smile, or push the hair from his eyes, or just look so goddam pleased to see him. All completely innocent actions, that had a not-so-innocent impact on Sorey’s mind. 

Had he ever told his friend any of this? Of course not. Was he ever going to tell him? He’d always thought he wouldn’t, but it had become harder and harder as they’d grown into young men to keep his feelings a secret. Sorey wanted to tell him. Him really did. But there was never a right time (or so he kept telling himself). 

Like now, for instance. Mikleo was playing with him, probably planning to make a lunge for the DVD in his hand. If Sorey was braver, he’d catch him by the waist before he could and pull him closer, until their chests were touching. 

_You’re right,_ he’d say, _the best friend is always the ideal romantic choice._

And then Mikleo would blush, because that was just so unlike Sorey, and he’d look down at how close they were, and Sorey would lift his chin because he wanted to see those lilac eyes, and he’d run his thumb over Mikleo’s lips to make them part, and the other boy’s breath would catch, and for once he wouldn’t have anything witty to say, and Sorey would lean in for that first kiss and Mikleo’s eyelashes would flutter shut like a butterfly coming in to land, and then... And then Sorey would die from embarrassment, because who could say and do such things without having their cheeks burst into flames? 

As predicted, Mikleo snatched the DVD from his loose grip and wrapped it tightly in his arms. Sorey eyed the colourful box with envy. 

“Yep,” Mikleo said. “The best friend. Whoever made this series really missed a trick with that one. I mean, it’s practically canon among the fans of the game, isn’t it?”

Sorey said nothing. His body felt uncomfortably hot, thanks to his previous thoughts. It was raining outside, the drops pattering against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Would it be weird of him to open them to let in some air? 

“And that,” Mikleo announced dramatically. “Is why we won’t be watching this DVD tonight.”

He walked over to the mahogany double-doors. 

“Where are you going?” Sorey asked. 

“To hide it somewhere you’ll never find it. So it can never again have the potential to terrorise our Saturdays with its misguided choices.” Mikleo grinned. “You’ll thank me for this, when you’ve seen the error of your ways. I’m such a good friend.”

_You are_ , Sorey thought, watching as Mikleo vanished through the doorway. _You’re too good a friend. That’s why this hurts so much. That’s why I want to be more._

He threw the window open and stuck out his head before such thoughts could consume him. It really was a miserable night. As well as the rain, a fierce wind was ripping its way through the grass. He could feel his feathers fluttering in the breeze, tugging just short of painfully against his ears. One of the parasols around the pool had been left open, and would likely be inside-out come morning. He could only pity the poor soul who’d have to face the wrath of Mason for that one. At least one good thing came of the weather. With the rain coming down in every direction, and the wind forcing everything it touched to dance, there was no way he’d see any smoke coming from between the lit skyscrapers in the distance. He could imagine that the city was safe again, and that Calamity Lord was gone for good. What a nice thought.

Only when the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed seven did Sorey realise he’d lost track of the time. His hair now soaked, he ducked back into the warmth of his lounge and pulled the glass shut. The room had everything he could ever want for a movie night. _Reclining sofa piled with cushions and blankets, in case they decided to pull an all-nighter._ Check. _Low glass table with space underneath for games consoles, topped with bowls of popcorn, crisps and Skittles_. Check. _Giant flat-screen TV with top of the range surround sound and high definition digital images._ Check _. Attractive best friend who should be charged because he’s so fine_. Sorey slapped a hand over his eyes. Did he really just think that? He cast his eyes around the room. Surprising, not-check. Where was Mikleo?

“Hey, Mikleo?” He poked his head through the double doors and out into the hallway. 

Like most of the manor, it was furnished with beige carpets and cream walls. A couple of tables were placed to one side, with hand-painted vases made of bone, and a peach-scented reed diffuser displayed on top of them. Opposite this hung a painting of a frozen lake, bordered by a gilded gold frame. 

Gramps’ tastes were as extravagant as Elysia Corp was successful. Almost everywhere someone went in the manor, they would be able to admire the trinkets he’d had imported, or won at various charity auctions. The only room in the manor without such decor was Sorey’s bedroom, and that was because he’d been very insistent on not having any. His room was a place to relax, to kick off his shoes and throw his bag across the floor without having to worry about knocking a priceless artifact off its pedestal. 

Mikleo had always had the upmost respect for all of Gramps’ belongings (sometimes, Sorey would find them chatting together about the origin of a particular piece, and he’d be pleased, because Mikleo wasn’t intimidated by Gramps, and Gramps was very fond of his friend) so Sorey suspected he’d be hiding the DVD somewhere in his bedroom. Shaking droplets of water from his hair, he went to find him. 

His bedroom was on the same floor as the lounge. Down the hallway, left past the full suit of Asgardian-inspired armour, and through the door with the two ferns outside. The door was shut when he arrived, and he rolled his eyes before knocking. 

“Mikleo? Just how unfindable are you planning on making my favourite show?”

No response. He pressed his ear to the wood. He could hear talking. The thought made him pale. Mikleo, in his room, with _somebody else_? Before it could occur to him that it might just be Mikleo talking to himself, he’d already kicked the door open. 

Mikleo was sitting on his bed, the DVD forgotten on the carpet, holding his phone to his ear. One of his arms was clutching the other across his chest as he listened to the person on the other end. Sorey only had to take one look at his hunched body posture and pale face to know that something terrible had happened. He flicked on the lights, since Mikleo must have forgotten to in his haste. 

“But why would this happen?” he was saying. “Have the police said anything?”

Silence. Sorey could hear the low murmur of the other voice. Mikleo rubbed his eyes and sighed. 

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks for letting me know.”

He hung up and dropped the phone in his lap. He was staring off into space, a thousand haunted thoughts running through his eyes. Sorey was careful when he put a hand on his shoulder, but Mikleo was still startled by the sudden touch. He looked up at Sorey brokenly. 

“I need to go to the museum,” he said. 

Sorey had expected as much. He grabbed his coat from the hook on the wall. 

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to-” Mikleo began to say, but Sorey cut him off. 

“I want to.”

He didn’t call out as he left the manor to let Gramps or Mason know he was leaving. There was no time for that. They clambered into Sorey’s corvette. Mikleo’s fingers tapped impatiently on his lap as they waited for the gates to open. 

“So what’s happened?” Sorey asked. 

Mikleo’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Calamity Lord attacked the museum.”

 

By the time they pulled up outside the museum, the whole building had been roped off by police tape. A small crowd had gathered, their curious eyes lingering on the red and blue police lights. The moment Sorey put his car into park, Mikleo jumped out the door. Sorey hurried to turn off the engine before he lost him in the crowd. 

Mikleo barged his way straight to the front and ducked under the police tape. Sorey only just kept up, apologising on Mikleo’s behalf to the people he’d pushed. They were immediately stopped by an officer. 

“I’m sorry sir,” she said, mainly addressing Mikleo. “But this is a crime scene. Please stay behind the-”

“I work here!” Mikleo snapped. “I’m the assistant director.”

Before she had the chance to ask, Mikleo flashed her his worker ID card. She checked it and nodded, finally turning to Sorey. 

“And what about you, sir. Do you work here?”

“No, but-”

“He’s with me,” Mikleo cut in. 

“I’m sorry, but if he’s not an employee, then we really can’t-”

“Clem!” another officer hissed at her, rushing to her side. “Don’t you know who that is?”

The new officer smiled brightly at Sorey, as if he hadn’t just heard their hushed words. 

“Go right ahead, Mr. Elysia,” she said. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

As much as Sorey wanted to insist that being troubled was perfectly alright, Mikleo was already halfway down the path by now. So he offered them what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and hurried after him. 

“Mikleo!” Upon entering the museum, a petite, dark-haired woman, whom Sorey recognised from the help desk, rushed over to them. She must have been the person on the phone. 

“How bad is it, Symmone?” Mikleo asked.  
She bit her pierced lip. 

“I think you should see for yourself.”

The exhibition room was littered with broken glass and torn banners. The cases had all been smashed, the windows shattered, and the floor tiles cracked. However, by some miracle it seemed that all the relics were still in their rightful places. But that was little consolation. Everything else - all the information boards, all the carefully worded posters, everything that would have taken Mikleo hours to complete to his high standard, was destroyed. 

Sorey could do nothing but hang back as his friend walked numbly into the room, like he was walking across a corpse-strewn battlefield. The air smelled like burning hair, and one of the white walls had been slashed with streaks of red paint, like splatters of blood. Symmone stayed by Sorey’s side. 

“It happened so quickly,” she told them. “There were about twenty people in here at the time. Uno was telling them about the seraphim-speakers. Then the lights went out. The windows burst inwards. And Calamity Lord was here.”

“Calamity Lord was _here_?” Sorey could hardly believe it. “Did you catch him on the security cameras?”

“He destroyed all records before he left.” Symmone said. “All we have are witness reports. But he was here, and he said he’d been informed that the point of the exhibit was to inspire rebellion against him. He said the idea was both laughable and insulting, and everyone who enjoyed it was a traitor to their new master.”

Ahead of them, Mikleo’s entire body had tensed. 

“And then his malevolent smoke filled the room. Those nearest the doors made it out in time, but everyone else... when it was over, and the lights came back on, they were all gone.”

“How many people escaped?” Sorey asked quietly, not wanting Mikleo to hear. But sparing him anymore distress clearly hadn’t crossed Symmone’s mind. 

“Seven. The other thirteen are now officially missing, and feared to be Hellions. Or worse.”

“ _Damn it_ ,” Mikleo cursed in a strained voice. 

And right then, Sorey knew it was really, really bad. His friend never cursed. He took careful steps into the room, the glass crunching under his feet. As he neared Mikleo, he saw that the red paint on the wall wasn’t just random streaks. From this angle, it was a message. 

_THE SAME THING SHALL HAPPEN TO ALL WHO ENTERTAIN THE IDEA OF BEING RID OF ME. MY CHAOS SHALL NEVER END._

“Mikleo,” Sorey said softly. 

But his friend remained tensed. 

“What does Heldalf think of all this?” he asked Symmone through clenched teeth. 

“He’s on the phone to the council now. They... they’re probably going to have to discontinue the exhibit.”

Mikleo laughed, a painful, choked noise. 

“Of course they are,” he said. “How well this all works for him.”

“It’ll be alright,” Sorey insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Mikleo turned his head slightly, so Sorey could see his bitter smile. 

“No it won’t.”

“As usual, you are one hundred percent correct.” The deep voice, plus more crunching from the direction of the doorway, announced Heldalf’s arrival. 

Mikleo spun around so fast that Sorey’s hand almost slapped him across the cheek. 

“What did they say?” Mikleo demanded. 

“What you’d expect.” Heldalf leant against the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Calamity Lord’s threat has been taken very seriously, and as a result, they deeply regret that the exhibit must be closed immediately. And indefinitely. I implored them to consider alternatives, but, well, they’d rather I begun preparations for a new exhibit instead.”

Heldalf’s steady grin told them he was anything but heartbroken about the news. Mikleo surged forwards, but Sorey caught his arm before he could charge at his boss. He knew Mikleo was more than capable of winning a fight with words, but a physical confrontation on the other hand... there were already too many broken things in the room. 

“Let me guess,” Mikleo hissed. “The next theme is the Age of Chaos. And they’ve charged you with raising money to fund further exploration of the ruins.” 

“Their words, not mine.” Heldalf shrugged. 

“Of course. Much more ethical that way.”

Mikleo strained against Sorey’s hold. If they were alone, Sorey knew exactly how he’d calm him down. Two firm hands on his shoulders, a stern but caring plea to think things through, a hug that always ended far too soon for Sorey’s liking, and then a cup of white hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream. But there was no way he’d let anyone witness something so private and personal, especially not the bane of Mikleo’s existence. 

“It is what it is, Mikleo,” Heldalf said. “It really is a shame. I was actually starting to like your exhibit, personally. Ask anyone. I put in so much time promoting it all across Ladylake, and I even extended the opening times so we could accommodate more guests.”

“He did,” Symmone agreed.

“But perhaps I did too good a job? Who could have known that Calamity Lord would pay us a visit. For the good of the museum, we must get rid of anything that has the potential to bring him back.”

“So, what you’re saying is, now you have a legitimate reason.” Mikleo’s glare could have melted lead. “For your auctions.”

“Yes. I guess I do.” Heldalf crossed his arms. “You’re still welcome to go to the paper, if you like. But I doubt your little tale will have such an impact now.”

Sorey wished he would stop smiling like that. His entire body was glowing with the smug satisfaction of victory. It was only egging Mikleo on, fueling his anger further. It was becoming difficult to hold him back, without making the restraint obvious. Oh, Heldalf would enjoy seeing that, wouldn’t he? His level headed friend resorting to irrational violence. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. 

He put his other arm around Mikleo’s shoulders and guided him towards the doorway, careful to keep himself between him and Heldalf. In this state, Mikleo wouldn’t be above lashing out as they went past. However, Mikleo was surprisingly cooperative. Until they reached the doorway. He stopped, digging his heels into the floor as Sorey tried to pull him onwards. His expression had gone eerily blank. 

“Very convenient, isn’t it,” Mikleo said quietly. “That Calamity Lord sabotages the exhibit, yet leaves all the relics you want to sell perfectly intact.” 

He stared at Heldalf, holding his eyes. Heldalf blinked.

“Are you implying something?” he asked.

“Was I only implying? My apologies, I meant it to be an undoubtable accusation. I forget sometimes that you’re a little dense.”

“Such accusations.” Heldalf’s eyes glimmered with dark light. His smile was only growing wider, until it looked painful. “You should be careful, little one. My respect for your uncle will only protect you from so much.”

The colour drained from Sorey’s face. Was he the only one who heard that underlying threat? If Mikleo heard it, it didn’t phase him. His eyes remained pinned to Heldalf’s, a contact that was only broken when Sorey was finally able to hurry him back into the lobby. He pushed Mikleo into a chair, standing to block him from Heldalf’s view. His eyes were still following them. Even though he knew the other man bore him no ill will, Sorey felt his throat growing tight. He opened the top button of his shirt. Mikleo, meanwhile, hadn’t even flushed. His head rested lazily on his propped arm. He looked bored. 

“I can’t believe it,” Sorey said. “Calamity Lord. Here.”

Until this point, all of Calamity Lord’s crimes had been committed on the other side of the lake. That’s where all the skyscrapers were, as well as all the shops, banks, offices, and everything else a supervillain could want. But this side was residential. It was homes and parks and the university and the museum. There was nothing for him here. 

“It was Heldalf,” Mikleo said. “I know it was. Somehow he got Calamity Lord to do his bidding.”

“Or maybe it was just the promoting that got his attention?” Sorey suggested. 

Honestly, the idea of Heldalf having any involvement in this crime chilled his blood. Thirteen people had been abducted. If he was willing to allow that just to put on the exhibit he wanted, what would he do to Mikleo if he refused to let this matter go? Or worse, tried to expose him? For there was very little doubt in Sorey’s mind that Mikleo would allow his boss to win. 

“No, Sorey,” Mikleo said, lifting his eyes to him. “I refuse to believe that. There is no way Calamity Lord would not destroy those relics if the exhibit was truly so infuriating to him. Not unless someone bargained with him.”

“Mikleo. Please.” Sorey checked over his shoulder to ensure Heldalf was not close enough to overhear. But the man was gone. Only Symmone remained, staying close to the wall to avoid getting in anyone’s way. “Can’t you just be glad that the relics are unharmed? Think how much worse it could have been.”

_Think how much worse it could still be if you don’t let it go!_ He undid another button, desperate for the cool wind to find its way to his sweaty skin. He wanted to shake Mikleo by the shoulders for saying such things. How could someone so smart be so stupid in a matter like this?

“Excuse me. Are you Mikleo Luzrov?” A young woman, dressed smartly in a black suit and pink shirt, had wandered over to them. 

Sorey recognised her instantly from the papers and various news reports. Bright, green eyes, like a spring field, and blonde hair, which curled at the ends, tied sideways in a ponytail. Commissioner Alisha Diphda. The youngest policewoman in Ladylake to ever be appointed to such a position. She smiled politely at him, eyes deliberately avoiding his open buttons. 

“No,” he said, flushing. “I’m not.”

She laughed lightly. 

“Of course I know who you are, Mr. Elysia,” she said. “I was actually talking to your friend behind you.”

“He wishes he could be me.” Mikleo stood and shook Alisha’s hand. “Commissioner Diphda, I just want to commend you on all your efforts to find Calamity Lord. Even after he blew up your headquarters, you’ve never let fear get the better of you. I think that’s really admirable.”

“Thank you.” Alisha’s eyes sparkled. “I wish I could say I get that all the time, but mostly people just call me incompetent for not having any leads to follow.”

“You’re here to ask me some questions, right?” Alisha nodded. Sorey was beginning to feel more and more like a useless bystander. “I’ll tell you everything I can.”

Sorey winced. Across the lobby, Symmone was watching Alisha and Mikleo’s exchange with interest. What was she still doing here? Hadn’t the police already questioned her? Wouldn’t she be desperate to go home by now, after such a traumatic day? Someone poked him in the back, making him jump. 

“Sorry,” Alisha said. “Why don’t you go home, Mr. Elysia? I’ll need to question Mikleo in private. I’ll make sure he gets home safely afterwards, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Sorey’s eyes flitted between the two of them, unsure which one he was addressing the question to. 

“It’s fine.” Mikleo insisted. “Take advantage of my absence and watch that terrible show you love so much.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t okay. Sorey didn’t want to let Mikleo out of his sight, not until he knew for sure that he’d abandoned the foolish conspiracy he’d dreamt up. But Mikleo and Alisha were already walking to a secluded office for the questioning, and even Symmone had finally left. He should leave too, but he’d forgotten how to move his legs. His stomach was churning with dread. Something didn’t feel right. 

“Mr. Elysia?” 

He jumped, yet again, as someone spoke behind him. Dammit! Why was he so jittery? The police officer cleared their throat, embarrassed. 

“Perhaps you should get some rest. You don’t look so good.”

He didn’t want to speak, in case he was actually sick, so he just nodded and shuffled towards the exit. Mikleo would be fine, he told himself. He was with Alisha, and Alisha had a gun. But Calamity Lord had dark powers. Would guns work on him?

“Mr. Elysia.”

Sorey wanted to shout in frustration as he jumped a third time. That couldn’t be good for his heart. He just about made out Heldalf smoking in the shadows. The man kept his eyes on the street ahead, as if wary of anyone witnessing their conversation. 

“I’ll be in touch.” 

He dropped his cigarette onto the path and crushed it under his heel. Sorey kept walking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - Sorey finally gets his superpowers!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm so sorry this took so long! XD The plot gets going after this chapter, so hopefully it won't take as long for me to finish the next one!

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Sorey asked, peering nervously out the window. 

Zaveid had stopped the limo behind a line of other limos, all of which were slowly progressing towards an opening in the red rope that had been set up around the perimeter. Leaning close to the tinted glass, Sorey could see people climbing from the limos ahead of theirs, and stepping onto a red carpet. The carpet led towards the grand auction hall, with its marble steps and columns framing the doorway. As they walked, they were accompanied by a barrage of camera flashes. 

When he’d unwittingly signed up for this, Heldalf had made the auctions sound like something secret and seclusive, bordering on not quite legal. Now, Sorey felt more like he’d arrived at a movie premier. 

“This is the address you gave me, kid,” Zaveid said, shrugging one of his hands off the wheel. 

“But isn’t there another way in?” Sorey could see a few reporters on the carpet side of the rope, stopping those passing by for a quick interview. “A way that’s a bit more... secretive?”

“I don’t know, _is there_? I don’t know anymore about this than you do, kid. Quite honestly, I wasn’t even expecting to have to work tonight. You sprung this whole thing on me quite quickly.”

“Yeah, well...” Sorey had no excuse for that. 

The invitation had arrived the morning after the museum fiasco. Glossy and scented, with elegant script. The envelope had been lined with velvet. _Velvet!_ It had taken Sorey a moment to realise what the invitation was for, and when he remembered who’d sent it, he’d almost tossed it in the trash. He wanted no part in funding Heldalf’s new exhibit. Not after what he’d done to Mikleo. 

So Sorey had ignored the invitation. But then he saw Heldalf on the news, lamenting what a shame it was that they’d have to sell the relics. Then he’d read articles about numerous businessmen and celebrities who wanted to help the noble cause and attend. Then he’d asked how Mikleo felt about it all.

Sorey sighed. Mikleo. He’d hardly seen his friend this past week. He’d been swamped at the museum, working as hard and diligently as he always had. But now it was for something he didn’t care about, for a man he despised. It broke Sorey’s heart to think about. He’d even had to bail on their weekly movie night. Which was actually a good thing, otherwise Sorey doubted he’d be here right now. Even though _here_ was the last place he wanted to be. 

_But it’s for Mikleo_ , he reminded himself, _you’re here to save that glove for Mikleo._

“Moment of truth, kid,” Zaveid said, as the limo crept closer and closer to the drop-off point. “If you want to bail you’d better do it soon.”

The camera flashes drew Sorey’s eyes. The photos would be in tomorrow’s paper. How was he meant to explain that to Mikleo?

_Hey, Mikleo. Remember that auction that happened last night? You know, the one where all those relics you wanted people to see got sold off to private collectors who’ll never ever display them for the public? The one we were speaking about over the phone, and you said that everyone who attended and put money in Heldalf’s funding jar was an egocentric, selfish, small-minded moron? Well, I attended even though I knew how betrayed that would make you feel. I gave Heldalf a lot of money for his new exhibit that’s breaking your soul. But here’s a glove._

Sorey’s eyes trailed along the carpet, which led all the way up the steps to the auction hall. Security guards stood at the base of the steps. No reporters were going inside. 

“Hey, Zaveid,” he said. “Can I borrow your hat?”

Zaveids big, black tophat didn’t match the style of the expensive suit Sorey was wearing. It was too big for his head, slipping down until the bridge of his nose if he didn’t hold it up. And the rim around it cast shadows over his entire face when he tipped it downwards. It was perfect. 

Sorey’s limo stopped in place. Someone stepped forward to open the door for him. He drew a breath, readying himself for the ordeal he was about to go through. _Avoid the reporters. Don’t let them get a picture of my face. Win the glove. Give it to Mikleo. Make him happy._

“Good luck, kid,” Zaveid chuckled. 

The door opened, and Sorey shot out. Immediately, he could hear the camera shutters clicking frantically. The nasally voice of the nearest reporter rang in his ears. 

“Oh! And who’s next? Who is that?”

Sorey tipped the hat over his face, quickening his pace as he breezed past her. 

“Who is that?” She sounded genuinely confused now. 

_Good_. 

Sorey kept his eyes trained on the carpet, evading the path of those who tried to step towards him. He risked a glance upwards, saw the steps were only a short distance away now. A car door slammed behind him, and his shoulders relaxed as everyone turned their attention to the next arrival. He hurried away before they could change their minds. 

The person who’d arrived before him was still having their invitation checked when he reached the guards. He didn’t want to stop though, not until he was safely concealed within the auction hall. The guard held up a hand when he didn’t slow down. Sorey tilted the hat back, flashing the guard his face. Any resistance he’d been about to meet vanished instantly, and he was on his way up the steps before the previous person had even been cleared. 

Once he stepped into the auction hall, he took the hat off and tried to brush some life back into his hair. More guards lingered inside, although these ones seemed a lot more passive. They simply stood out of the way, watching those who came in. The only time one of them interacted with him was when he was motioned to step through the metal detector that had been set up between the doorway and the registry desk. Sorey bit his lip. The idea of Calamity Lord showing up to ruin the auction hadn’t crossed his mind until then. 

The registry desk had an assortment of white bidding paddles laid to one side, with thick black numbers on them. On the other side were forms, which the man who sat at the desk was filling out with a practised hand. 

“Next,” he called, after handing the lady in front of Sorey her paddle. 

As soon as Sorey stepped forward, the man’s back went straight. 

“Mr. Elysia,” he said. “How good to see you here.”

“Yes.” Sorey wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

The man was already filling out his details, even though he hadn’t parted with any yet. 

“Your grandfather is a regular of ours,” the man said, smiling fondly. “How nice to see that you’ve inherited his taste for fine artifacts. I’m surprised he’s not come tonight, actually.”

Sorey wasn’t. He’d spoken to Gramps about tonight, a few hours before he’d left, in fact. Gramps had made it quite clear that he was wary about bringing any of the relics into his home. The risk of Calamity Lord seeking them out was one he was not willing to take. He’d suggested Sorey do the same, but Sorey had already started imagining the look on Mikleo’s face when he was given the glove. Even Calamity Lord wouldn’t come between him and that.  

Once Sorey had signed all the documents, he reached to take a paddle, eyes already planning his route to the next room. He could hear glass clinking and the light murmur of chatter. The aroma of warm pastry and smoked fish promised delicious food. But the man stopped him before he could take one. 

Instead, he pulled a different paddle out from under the desk. A black paddle, with the number ’02’ written on it in gold. He held it out to Sorey as if he were offering him a sword. 

“For our most esteemed guests only,” he said with a wink. 

Sorey took it. The handle was lined with velvet, just like the envelope he’d received. Did that mean no one else had had velvet in their envelopes then? A waiter walked from a door that must have led to the kitchen. He was carrying a tray of tiny quiches. Sorey hastily thanked the man at the desk and followed after the food.

The auction was being held in a grand hall, more like a ballroom than anything. The high ceiling had cherubs painted on it, and space for two crystal chandeliers. Waiters were offering glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres to men in suits and women clad in shimmering dresses of silk. On the far side of the room, chairs had been set up by the stage where the auctions would take place. The stars of the show, the relics, were scattered around the room in glass cases for everyone to admire. Their last exhibition, and only an exclusive few had been allowed to attend. Sorey pushed the quiche he’d taken into his mouth and set out to find the glove. 

He felt eyes lingering on him as he moved, but if they were actually on him or the ridiculous hat he was carrying was anyone’s guess. The glove already had a few people crowded around it, regarding it from a distance. Sorey remembered stooping the first time he’d seen it, desperate to drink in every detail. He did so again upon reaching it, just to ensure it was the same glove. It was. 

“Well, well, Mr. Elysia.” Sorey looked over his shoulder as an old man approached him. “I didn’t realise you had an eye for this sort of thing.”

As the man neared, Sorey realised he wasn’t actually that old. It was simply the slicked-back grey hair and deep frown lines in his tanned skin that had made him seem so. The man held out a hand and Sorey hesitantly shook it. It was always so unsettling: meeting strangers who already seemed to know him. 

“Bartlow,” the man introduced. “History enthusiast and proud owner of the largest collection of relics outside of Ladylake museum. Though soon I expect I’ll give even them a run for their money.”

The handshake was still going on. Sorey didn’t want to be the first to pull away, just in case he ended up offending the man. Bartlow smiled at him almost intensely. 

“I didn’t realise you also collected relics.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Sorey said, and finally his hand was released. It felt a lot sweatier now, so he wiped it on the side of his trousers. 

“So just browsing then?” 

“No. I plan on winning this glove.”

“Really?” Bartlow’s smile quivered. “What a time to start your own collection. As a professional, I’d recommend easing yourself into it with something a bit easier to preserve. Like a tablet, or a piece of jewellery.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Sorey said. “But it has to be this glove. It’s for a friend, you see.”

He smiled to himself as he thought of the way Mikleo’s eyes had shone whilst speaking about the glove. How gently he must have handled it, whilst placing it in a case. Had he ever gotten the chance to see it one last time, before Heldalf had it brought here?

“Oh,” Bartlow said, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “If you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Elysia, a relic like this is too precious to fall into the hands of an amateur. I beg you to reconsider. Bid on something else. Anything else. For the good of the historical community.”

“Such a hypocrite,” a new voice spoke. 

Another man had joined them, one whom Sorey was relieved to actually know quite well. Or maybe it was just habit to feel so calm and comforted when looking into those familiar purple eyes? But instead of the white hair he’d come to expect with such a trait, this man had light brown hair, ending just above his shoulders. Mikleo’s uncle, Michael. 

“Mr. Luzrov,” Sorey greeted. 

Michael rolled his eyes fondly. He was holding a glass of champagne. It was half empty. 

“Please, Sorey. If anyone here is allowed to call me Michael, it’s you.” Michael’s eyes hardened as they shifted to Bartlow. “As for you, why don’t you save your intimidation tactics for the auctions? Poor Mr. Elysia here doesn’t want to be harassed by you.”

So there had been an ulterior motive to their exchange. Sorey hadn’t wanted to suspect so, espeically since he’d only just met the other man. Bartlow’s eyes bore into Michael’s, as if begging him to be quiet. But Micheal was far too amused to take pity. 

“Didn’t you realise, Sorey?” Michael said. “Bartlow here knows you could pay five times the amount he could for that glove, and he’s been after a glove like that for quite some time now. Was putting offers in the moment it was unveiled at the exhibit. So now he’s trying to put you off.” Michael’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky we don’t have to drive to the auction from here. Otherwise I don’t doubt he’d have slashed your tyres.”

“I would never-” Bartlow stuttered. 

Michael held up his bidding paddle to silence him. To Sorey’s surprise, he had the same black and gold one as had been given to him. But his had ‘01’ written on it. 

“Go scurry back to your bridge, you troll,” Michael scoffed. “Before Mr. Elysia waves his hand and has you thrown off the premises. He could do it, you know. Less competition for him.”

With a cautious nod of his head, Bartlow retreated back among the other guests. Sorey sighed. It was not how he’d have chosen to end their exchange. But that was Michael’s way. The man fought like a peacock: spreading out beautiful feathers and reminding his opponent how expensive they all were, so that when the time came to jab his blunt beak in their direction, they’d already retreated to the corner for fear of breaking them. That’s how Mikleo had described him, and Sorey had often thought that there was something about the man’s sharp features and high cheekbones which seemed bird-like.  

Michael raised a playful eyebrow at Sorey as he sipped his drink. It really had been too long since they’d last seen each other. When he and Mikleo was younger, Michael had always been the one who brought Mikleo to Sorey’s mansion. And when Sorey came over to Mikleo’s, Michael was always there to greet him. But since Mikleo had moved out of his uncle’s house and gotten himself a job, Sorey hadn’t even heard him mention Michael. It was like he’d cut all ties in order to prove his independence from his uncle and what remained of his fortune. 

Sorey wondered, was it alright for him to talk to Michael now? The older man was acting like they’d just seen each other last week, like it hadn’t been almost a year since they’d last encountered each other. Mikleo claimed he’d parted from his uncle on good terms, but somehow Sorey didn’t think he’d be happy if he heard they’d run into each other. He could ask Micahel about it now, but he was already going behind Mikleo’s back enough with this auction business. Michael drained his glass and leant close to Sorey, speaking lowly to him. 

“As much as I despise that man, he is right. You don’t have the time to dedicate to preserving relics. Not alongside your studies. How is your education going, by the way?”

“Fine.” Sorey wished he’d picked up some champagne now. Drinking it would give him an excuse to pause and think about what he should say. “It’s not as much fun on my own though. There’s no one to bounce my theories off of.”

“Well don’t blame me, Sorey. I offered time and time again to pay my nephew’s tuition fee, but he was very insistent about funding it himself. Gods know why. And don’t pass on his lecture about independence, or whatever nonsense he told you when you asked about it. He’s a smart boy. He should know that borrowing money from his wealthy relative is nothing to be ashamed about. Everyone else does it.”

Sorey racked his brains, trying to remember what it was that Michael did. He didn’t run a company like Gramps. He wasn’t a collector like Bartlow. And he definitely wasn’t on the council. What had Mikleo said? He helped fund ventures and shared in the profits? Something like that. 

“Are you planning on buying anything tonight?” Sorey asked, hoping he wasn’t about to have more competition for the glove. Although, Michael winning it wouldn’t necessarily be the disaster that Bartlow winning it would be. 

To his surprise, Michael shook his head, his smile slipping for a brief moment. 

“No. I’m just here on a formality. There’s no way I’m giving Heldalf another penny until I see some return from my previous investment.”

“You’ve funded him before?” 

“A few years ago. You won’t have heard about it. It wasn’t worthy of any coverage.”

Did Mikleo know this? Whatever bad blood existed between him and his uncle, Sorey found it hard to believe that his friend wouldn’t get excited about Michael funding an excavation.  

“It was in the Gallahad ruins, just outside of the city,” Michael continued. “Heldalf was convinced we’d find a very valuable relic from the Age of Chaos, but no such luck. We found nothing. Not even a pebble. So naturally, I’m a lot more cautious about spending. We can’t all be Elysia’s, buying relics on a whim.”

“The glove isn’t for me,” Sorey insisted.

“Oh? Who’s it for then.”

He said nothing. He didn’t need to, because Michael’s smile grew longer, and his eyes narrowed mischievously. He tapped his fingers against his empty glass.

“Ah. Perhaps that was a stupid question. I briefly visited the exhibit when it was still open. I know whose favourite piece this is. How noble of you, Sorey. A rather interesting way of confessing your feelings, but I guess you can’t spell glove without love.”

“What? No!” Sorey flushed. He knew doing so would prove Michael’s point, but he couldn’t help it. It had become a knee-jerk reaction over the years, whenever someone mentioned his affection for Mikleo. Flush and deny it. “It’s just a gift!”

Michael snorted with amusement.  
“A gift? Please. Have you seen the prices that some of these relics are expected to sell for? You could buy a diamond-studded engagement ring for less, and it’d get the message across a lot clearer too.”

“I’m- it’s not- I’m not-”

Sorey was saved from his ramblings by a bell being rung in the direction of the stage. The auctions were about to begin. Michael waved to him as he joined the flow of people, heading to take their seats. 

“Good luck, Sorey,” he said. “I’ll be routing for you!”

“Wait! Michael!”

Sorey hurried to catch up to him, all whilst trying not to knock anyone’s drinks onto their outfits. He caught Michael by his elbow.

“Please don’t say anything to Mikleo.” He bit his lip. “I... I want it to be a surprise.”

“Of course.” Michael winked at him. “My lips are sealed.”

 

“Do I want to know what that is?” Zaveid asked dubiously, as Sorey slipped himself into the limo. 

He was followed by two men from the auction house, wheeling a box that was big enough to hold a bag of compost. They carefully placed the box in the limo’s trunk, patting the back of the vehicle to signal that the job was done. Zaveid drove on, following the procession of other limos and cars who were leaving the auction. Sorey was still silent. 

“Kid? Hey? What did you win?”

“A glove,” Sorey said.

“That’s good, right? That’s what you came to win?”

“Yes, but...”

But Gramps was going to kill him. Because he’d just spent $10,000. On a glove. How had it gone that high? No one had bid when it started at $4,000. Only when the auctioneer had dropped to $2,000 did people start showing an interest. Then Bartlow had upped it to $5,000. Sorey assumed this was as high as the other man would go, and he’d been right. But then there was a bidder on the phone. He’d pushed him up to $7,000. And Sorey, driven by panic, had put in the final killer bid of $10,000. 

He knew it was too much, because everyone had gasped. The auctioneer had raised an eyebrow. The person representing the phone bidder had hesitated before relaying the information back to his client. Only Michael had been chuckling. And when the gavel came down - _sold!_ \- Sorey wished he’d taken the older man’s advice and just bought some jewellery for Mikleo instead. Heck, he could have bought him a used car for that price! But it was done. He hoped Mikleo would be happy. Yet he had a horrible suspicion that his friend would be more attentive to the $10,000 he’d just put into Heldalf’s funds. 

At least Heldalf had allowed him to take the display case it came in as well. It would keep the glove protected, but now sneaking the relic into the manor without Gramps or Mason catching him was going to be that much more difficult. 

“Am I an idiot, Zaveid?” Sorey asked, resting his warm forehead against the cool window. 

“I feel like one.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re rich. You can be whatever you want to be. Sure, I imagine you’ve just spent my bimonthly wage on that glove, but it’s for a worthy cause, right?”

“Right.” He had to keep reminding himself about that. It was the only thing that stopped him from calling Heldalf and begging for a refund. 

When they arrived back at the manor, Sorey gave Zaveid the key to the backdoor while he went to the front. If Gramps was still up, that was where he was most likely to be lurking. Luckily, Zaveid didn’t have much trouble carrying the box, thanks to his strong arms. He gave Sorey a mock salute before he disappeared around the side of the manor, and Sorey took out his key and prepared for a confrontation. 

The hallway seemed clear when he first stepped in. But the chandelier that hung in the middle of the curling steps was still on, so he knew Gramps definitely hadn’t retired for the evening yet. Either that, or Mason was beginning to fall behind in his duties, something which Sorey severely doubted. 

He glanced around at the three doorways that led to the next rooms. He couldn’t see Gramps sitting in the lounge, helping himself to brandy in the drawing room, or fixing a snack in the kitchen. He was probably reading in the library, or having a smoke on the balcony of the master bedroom. Sorey wasn’t going to linger to find out. He crept towards the drawing room, planning to take the steps in the corner up to the floor his bedroom was on. 

“Sorey?” Gramps’ low voice came from the top of the stairs. 

Sorey’s first response was to freeze, his meek expression revealing his guilt. But then he remembered that as far as Gramps knew, he’d come home empty handed. There was no need for him to be so on edge. Swallowing, he turned to Gramps whilst flashing the most genuine smile he could muster. 

“Hi Gramps. I didn’t know you’d still be awake.”

“You know me,” Gramps chuckled. “I can never fall asleep until you’re back home safely.”

Gramps was a small, elderly man, but he was by no means frail. Even as he descended the stairs, smiling, Sorey’s stomach was clenching at the thought of being discovered. He could only imagine what it was like to see Gramps in full-blown business mode, his thick eyebrows narrowing and his frown deepening. 

“How was the auction?” Gramps asked, and Sorey realised it was strange that he still hadn’t taken off his shoes. 

He bent to fiddle with the laces, glad that doing so gave him a moment to collect his thoughts and form his lie. 

“It was fine,” he muttered. “I couldn’t believe how much some of those items went for.”

“Those poor fools. What sort of prices are we talking about?”

Gramps reached up to pour himself a small glass of brandy from the displayed decanter. He normally had a drop or two before bed. That was a good sign. It meant this deceitful conversation wouldn’t have to last much longer. Sorey thought he was doing well so far, but lying had always made him feel terrible. 

“A tapestry sold for $13,000,” he said. “It was about 20 feet long though. And some tablets went for about $5,000 to $7,500 each.” 

Gramps nodded, as if such prices were expected. Sorey pulled off his shoes, deciding to test his luck.

“Someone paid $10,000 for a glove. That was surprising.”

“Ha,” Gramps snorted. “I hope it’s a jewel-encrusted glove for that price.”

He turned to Sorey, whirling the brandy around the bulbous glass. 

“And what will you be doing with said glove?”

“Whaaa?” Sorey balked at the statement. Gramps already knew? How?!

Seeing his reaction, Gramps just chuckled again. At least he wasn’t angry.

“I’ve spent the last half hour mulling over the best way to reveal that information to you, Sorey. I thought I’d have to subtly steer the conversation that way, but you go and bring it up like that. Perfect!”

“How did you find out?” Sorey asked. 

“I got a phone call from a rather disgruntled sounding gentleman. From what I can gather, he thought he was stitching you up by revealing such information to me. All he did was give me a good laugh though. I can’t believe you actually made an enemy!”

Sorey huffed. It must have been Bartlow. He was the only one Sorey could imagine being bitter enough to do such a thing. Gramps sipped his brandy. 

“Well, goodnight,” he said, climbing back up the stairs. 

“Wait, is that it?” Sorey had expected, at the very least, a stern lecture about the importance of not wasting money. Or for him to repeat the Calamity Lord warning they’d shared earlier that day. 

“I’d say don’t do it again,” Gramps said. “But to be honest, I don’t think an opportunity to do so would ever arise. That glove is quite the unique piece, from what I’ve heard. I hope it serves you well.”

Sorey could do nothing but turn his blushing face away as Gramps disappeared back up the steps. He hurried to his room, hoping Zaveid had already left the box in there. He had. It was sitting on his bed when he opened the door, the insignia of the auction house dark against the wood. Sorey heaved it onto the floor and flopped himself down onto his mattress. He just wanted to sleep, but he supposed he’d better check the glove was intact after being moved around so much. 

Groaning, he grabbed the steel ruler off his desk and stuck it in the crack between the box and the lid. The auction house had nailed it shut, but only loosely, per his request. He pressed his weight against the ruler, half expecting it to break in half, but instead the lid came away with a satisfying crunch. He lifted the case free with both hands. He set it down on his desk. And frowned. 

This wasn’t the right glove. He distinctly remembered it being shabby and threadbare, with most of the colour faded. The one in the case before him looked pristine enough to be new from a shop. Or a freshly made reproduction. He stiffened at the implication. _Heldalf wouldn’t..._

He pried the case open, carefully removing the glove. He sniffed it. It certainly didn’t smell like plastic fibres or washed material. It had the same old musty scent as an ancient book. But that was an easily done trick. There was no way Mikleo would look at this glove and think it was the same one he’d cherished from the exhibit. Sorey almost threw the infernal thing against the wall. This wasn’t what he’d wanted!

“I’ll take it back,” he decided. “Demand a refund.”

It had to be an elaborate trick. When he returned to the auction house, they’d have a good laugh and exchange this costume piece for the real one. At least they’d made the replica in his size. Deciding there was no harm in playing along, Sorey slipped the glove onto his left hand. It fit snugly, making his skin warm. _Not bad_. Maybe he’d keep the replica and ask for another, so he could wear them as a pair in Winter. It would certainly keep his hands nice and toasty... 

Sorey blinked as he registered something close to pain on the back of his hand. He flipped it over. The glove’s golden insignia was glowing white hot. 

“What the-?”

It was burning him! What toxic material had they made this from? Sorey clawed blindly at the glove as the burning grew fiercer, and the glow became brighter. He didn’t realise he was moving until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell down. 

“Gramps! Mason! Zaveid!” 

The glow was unbearably bright. He shut his eyes, his head spinning. Even the darkness behind his eyelids was tainted with it. He ground his teeth together, digging his hands into his hair. 

_Stop! Stop! Stop!_

The light disappeared so suddenly, that Sorey wondered if he’d passed out. Or woken up. There was a cool wind blowing through his room, quite pleasant on his heated face.

“What a weird dream,” he murmured. 

He must have nodded off when he’d flopped onto his mattress after getting home. That would certainly make sense. The glove was still in the box, unpacked, and hopefully looking how it should. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep until he’d checked. 

But when he opened his eyes, it wasn’t his room he saw. It was the skyscrapers of Ladylake. And he was floating hundreds of feet in the air above them. 

 

_In the Gallahad ruins, a wall that concealed a tunnel no one had stepped in for thousands of years crumbled away._


	4. Chapter 4

Ladylake was a beautiful city. It had towering skyscrapers to gawk at, plenty of parks for those who wanted to get some peace and fresh air, and a fascinating history that was still being pieced together even now. There were the tragic tales of those who had drowned in the lake, and legends about dragons and seraphim, and the different features of the city which spoke of past architecture styles and trends. Yes, there was nowhere Sorey liked better than Ladylake. 

That had been his opinion while on the ground. 

But now, floating hundreds of feet above the skyscrapers, the cars below crawling along like a colony of fireflies, the wind drowning all the noises of the city into a distant hum... Sorey was horrified by the sight of Ladylake. 

“This has to be a dream,” he told himself. “A really horrid dream...”

He pinched himself. Not only did it hurt, but the movement made him start to tilt. He shot his arm back to where it had previously been - stretched out beside him - and held his breath until his body was stable again. 

Speaking of his body... swallowing back his nausea, he looked down at himself. He wasn’t wearing his suit anymore. In fact, he didn’t know what he was wearing. His entire body was covered in tight, white material, and over that he was dressed in a billowing white coat. The edges were adorned with swirling gold designs, and if the flapping near his ankles was any indicator, the coat had a pair of tails that stretched down his legs. But that wasn’t even the weirdest part. The outfit was glowing, bright as a star. 

Something grazed his cheek. It was his hair, now streaming out in a long, blonde ponytail. He sucked in a sharp breath. It was one thing to be wearing different clothing, but to realise _he_ had physically changed... 

“What the heck is going on!” he shouted at the night.

“Peace, brave hero. All will be okay.”

The voice, soft and feminine, came from behind him. He dared not turn to look in case he unbalanced himself again. 

“Who’s there?” he asked. A chill ran down his spine, like someone had just brushed their fingers against his skin. The air before him wavered slightly, but that could have just been the rising fumes from the traffic. No one answered him. “Hello?!”

“Can you not see me? I’m right here.”

The voice was close, but still he could see no one. He turned his head both ways, straining his neck to get a better look all around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red and silver in front of him, but when he looked back, nothing was there. Or so it seemed. 

Sorey squinted hard, like he was trying to see the cracks in a smashed vase that had been  skillfully glued back together. His eyes throbbed in protest, but he kept at it. His vision wavered, and the red and silver was there again. But this time, it took a form. 

A lovely young woman floated before him, wearing the type of red and white dress he’d definitely seen displayed at the museum. It was like a flower petal, hanging down in elegant folds whilst leaving her pale legs bare. The silver was her hair, all of which had been tied in a neat ponytail, except for two long strands that framed her face. A red and gold band sat on her head, the ends flaring out like wings. Finally, Sorey took in her eyes. Large, green, and full on uncontainable joy. 

“You can see me!” the woman said, clapping her hands. “How thrilling! It’s been so long since someone could see me. Oh, we must be introduced. You can call me Lailah.”

“Sorey,” Sorey replied hesitiantly.

He knew he should say more, maybe ask _why the heck he was flying?!_ , but something seemed off about Lailah. Her form kept growing faint, like she was slowly fading away. He rubbed his eyes, struggling to keep them focused on her. 

“Is it difficult?” Lailah asked, calming when she noticed his strained expression. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Just like you’ll get used to all your new powers!”

“Powers?!” Sorey spluttered. 

Had he drunk something strange when he’d returned home from the auction? Spiked wine? Dodgy brandy? Maybe Gramps had put the wrong herbs in his incense burner, and now he was hallucinating?

“You look alarmed,” Lailah noted. “You do know what you’ve agreed to, don’t you?”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Sorey exclaimed, glad that he’d finally gotten out more than just a word. “All I did was get home, put on the glove, and go to sleep...”

_The glove!_ Sorey glanced at his hand, and sure enough, he was still wearing that infernal thing. 

“That sounds like an agreement to me,” Lailah said. “If you put the glove on then you’ve agreed to use its power. But such power isn’t granted to you for free. It comes at a cost.”

“Wait a second.” Sorey took a tentative step forward. It moved him slowly towards Lailah. He kept his arms spread for balance. “Are you telling me that this is all happening because of a _glove_?”

“Not just any glove.” Lailah was much better at this than he was. She wasn’t making any gestures, and yet she matched his slow pace. They were drifting together. “It’s the glove of the hero. For generations, it has been passed from wielder to wielder, choosing only those with good intent and strong hearts to bear its power, and only in those times of great need. And now it has been passed to you, Sorey, for the first time since the Age of Chaos. Which can only mean one thing: a new Age of Chaos is upon us. And you are the only one who can stop it.”

Sorey stared at her in silence. Lailah folded her hands in her lap. 

“I know,” she said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“A lot? It’s a _mountain_ to take in! It’s too much!” Sorey grasped his head, grunting in frustration as his new ponytail curled around one of his wrists. 

“The burden is always a heavy one.” Lailah agreed. “The last wielder struggled with it too. But as the hero, it is your duty to give your all to overcome it!”

“Lailah,” Sorey said, trying to sound calm. “I can’t be the hero. I have two essays due in next week, and a book report on some textbook I haven’t even _started_ yet, and then I have to go with Gramps to a conference he’s having about the company, and I promised Mikleo I’d stop by the museum when I was free, and if anyone sees me dressed like this then-”

“That’s enough of that.” Lailah’s firm voice silenced him, and yet she still smiled sweetly. She held out her hand for him to take. “Come. I want to show you something.”

Sorey expected his fingers to pass right through her grasp, but her hand was as warm as her smile. He swallowed as she pulled him gently. They slowly drifted down, towards the skyscrapers. 

“Say, Lailah. Are you a... seraph?”

Lailah giggled with delight. 

“No. A new seraph hasn’t been born in millennia. I’m just a ghost.”

A ghost? Sorey’s mind was working overtime. A ghost, wearing a dress he’d definitely seen before in the museum, who’d been alive long enough to see the Age of Chaos... he snapped his fingers. 

“You’re the Lady of the Lake!” he exclaimed. 

It was a well known story. Ladylake (or whatever it had been known as back then) had been attacked by invaders who wanted to enslave the people and burn down their settlements. The Lady of the Lake had been the only person willing to stand up to them. When they came to burn, she fought back. Sadly, the invaders killed her and threw her body in the lake. But seeing her bravery inspired the other people to fight back, and they’d successfully driven the invaders away. The settlement had been renamed in her honour. 

“I can’t believe you’re not a seraph!” Sorey exclaimed. “The legends say that those who make a noble sacrifice of their life will return as seraphim and bless the land with their purity. Are you sure you’re not a seraph?”

“If I was a seraph, Calamity Lord wouldn’t be running amok in my city. Believe me.” Lailah stopped their decent with a graceful wave of her hand. “Take a look at yourself, Sorey.”

They were floating beside one of the skyscrapers now. Sorey could see himself fully in the reflection of the windows. He looked ethereal: a man dressed in flowing clothing with large red feathers tied to his hair, emitting a soft glow. His eyes were red too. As he stared, the colour of his feather and eyes changed. They shifted from red to blue, and after a moment from blue to green, and green to yellow. A minute passed, and they were back to red again. He touched his face, hardly recognising himself. How could this be?

“The closest thing here to a seraphim is the power you’ve got in that glove,” Lailah said. “I can’t stop Calamity Lord, but you can. And you must. Before he unleashes something that can’t be put back to sleep. _Not this time._ ”

Sorey was sure he wasn’t meant to hear the last part of that sentence. He wanted to ask _what happened last time?_ but he had more pressing things to worry about. Like convincing Lailah that he wasn’t going to be the new hero. 

“How many heroes have you had to say all this too?” Sorey asked. 

“Well, erm...” Lailah hesitated, twisting her hands together. “You’re my first, actually.”

Sorey’s eye widened. 

“Really?”  
“Really. The seraphim always guided the hero on his path. I would just watch from a respectful distance. They said I wasn’t professional enough to deal with the induction.”

She offered him a smile, but it was her weakest one yet. Sorey scratched the back of his head nervously. 

“I think you’ve been great so far,” he said. 

She beamed at him. 

“Thank you.”

“And I don’t mean this in a disrespectful way... but why are you here now then? Why isn’t a seraph telling me all this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lailah’s distant eyes spoke of untold sadness. “There aren’t any seraphs left. Not anymore.”

“What happened to them?”

“Oh look!” Lailah suddenly pointed to where several police cars were parked, their lights still filling the street with red and blue flashes. “I wonder if they’re here to stop a crime? How exciting would that be to watch! Shall we take a closer look?”

“Lailah,” Sorey said firmly, trying to regain her attention. 

“Or you could handle it yourself,” Lailah continued. “It would be very easy for you with the power of the glove.”

Sorey sighed. He recognised a lost cause when he saw one. He’d just have to satisfy his craving for seraphim stories with the books he had back home.

“So I have to be the hero because I’m wearing the glove?” he clarified.

“Because the glove _chose_ you,” Lailah corrected. “And to be chosen is a sacred duty that-”

Before she’d finished her sentence, Sorey was already pulling the glove from his hand. No glove, no powers. It was a simple fix. He’d give it to someone else, someone who’d be better at this hero stuff. Someone like Mikleo.

“Sorey! Don’t!” Lailah exclaimed. 

But it was too late. The glove was off. And almost immediately, Sorey was falling from the sky. 

“Lailah!” he screamed, but the ghost couldn’t fall fast enough to catch him. 

His eyes streamed as the ground hurtled towards him at an alarming speed. He saw with alarming clarity where his body would land: an empty alleyway behind a Chinese take-out, with a giant metal dumpster. After everything, he was about to end up as just another stain on the pavement. 

_And I never got to tell Mikleo how I feel about him._ That was his biggest regret. He didn’t want to think how his friend would react to the news of his death. Sorey could only hope that he didn’t shut himself away from the world, and that he’d accept help from those-

_CLANG!_

_CRACK!_

The sounds rung through Sorey’s ears as he finally landed. The first came when his face rebounded off the dumpster (which was thankfully closed), and the second when he finally met the pavement. He blinked up at the night sky. He felt... fine. His head was spinning like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster, and his body throbbed. But no more than if he’d had a regular fall. Confused, he sat up. 

How in the world was he still alive? He carefully stood and examined the dumpster. There was a dent in it the same size as his head. He touched his forehead, where he distinctly remembered the cold touch of metal. Had he really escaped such a fall unharmed? As he checked himself for injuries, he noticed his glowing outfit was back to being the suit he’d worn to the auction. 

“Sorey!” Lailah called, slowly drifting towards him. “I should have told you sooner. You can’t remove the glove, otherwise you’ll lose your powers.”

“That’s fine,” Sorey said, backing away from her. “I don’t want them.”

Guilt twisted his stomach when he saw her expression fall, but he refused to let himself be swayed by a little sorrow. It would be better this way. He’d make a terrible hero. 

“Here,” he tossed the glove to Lailah. “Give it to someone else.”

Lailah made no move to catch the glove, and for a moment Sorey realised that maybe she couldn’t. It would sail straight through her hands, right? But before it landed on the dirty ground, a strong gust of wind caught it and blew it back into Sorey’s face. As he pulled it away, something shone on his hand. 

“As I told you,” Lailah said, and Sorey had to applaud her on her patience with him, “the glove has chosen you. It can’t be passed to another. The mark is proof.”

On the back of his hand, the one he’d worn the glove on, a mark was inked onto his skin in glowing gold. The same mark that was on the back of the glove. Sorey blinked. Now the burning sensation when he’d first put it on made sense. 

“It will stay with you until your duty is fulfilled,” Lailah told him. “You will be the hero until the new Age of Chaos has ended.” 

A piercing scream silenced whatever profanities Sorey might have uttered. He automatically turned to where it had come from: the alley across the street. What time was it? Gramps had always advised him not to linger in the city’s alleys come night. Calamity Lord may have been Ladylake’s resident supervillain, but there were plenty of other crooks lurking in the shadows. 

Before he’d even thought through what he was about to do, Sorey was running towards the scream. Lailah didn’t shout for him to stop, so he assumed that was a good sign. A car horn blared as he ran across the road, but he hardly noticed. He could see the outline of the figures in the alley now: a woman in a waitress uniform and a hooded man with a menacing grin, who was wielding a knife. He was in the process of ripping her handbag off her arm. 

“Hey!” Sorey shouted, once he was close enough. “Leave her alone!”

As he’d hoped, the hooded man’s attention turned to him. He stopped running once he was standing between the two of them, pausing to catch his breath. The knife flashed in the light of the street-lamps as it was turned towards him. Well, he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do now. 

“Are you going to make me?” the hooded man sneered. His eyes swept over Sorey’s outfit. “Nice suit. Tailor made?”

“I think so.” Sorey checked his sleeves in case there was a label. Gramps bought the suits, he just wore them to the correct occasions. 

“I thought so.” The hooded man’s eyes narrowed. “Take it off.”

“What?” 

The woman had had the sense to run, thank goodness, though her bag was still slung over the hooded man’s shoulder. Now that Sorey examined him, he saw that underneath the ragged hoodie, the man was wearing decent clothes. He thought he might have even seen a Rolex watch on his wrist when his sleeve shifted down his arm. And the breath that washed over him as he made his demands wasn’t the rancid stench of desperation. It was minty fresh. 

“Come on then,” the hooded man said, jabbing his knife in Sorey’s direction. “Off. And make sure you fold it correctly along the seams. I don’t have time to be ironing out creases.”

“Do you think he’ll get violent if you refuse to do what he says?”

Sorey jumped about a foot in the air when that voice piped up behind him. 

“Lailah,” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “How long have you been standing there?”  
“Who you talking to?” the hooded man said. “Are you deaf or just stupid? I want your suit!”

Sorey knew he should be listening to the demands, or planning an escape, but he was mesmerised by the bizarre scene before him. Lailah had left his side and was now peering at the hooded man’s face. She wasn’t shy about getting close to him. And he stared straight through her, completely oblivious to her presence. Sorey was finding the whole thing hard to accept. 

“He doesn’t have bloodlust in his eyes,” Lailah said. “How boring. I bet he’s never used that knife for anything violent. But you know, he’s actually rather dashing for a criminal. Take a look.”

She stepped to the side and pulled the hood down, much to the man’s horror. He fumbled for it with his spare hand. 

“Damn wind,” he muttered. 

The face that was revealed to Sorey was older than his own. His hair was dark and neat, and his eyes were the type of blue that made people swoon. But Sorey had always preferred lilac eyes himself, and why fawn over hair like the night sky when you could run your fingers through strands as white as fresh snow? When the now unhooded-man saw Sorey staring at his face, he swore. 

“Damn it. There can be no witnesses!” he shouted, and plunged the knife into Sorey’s chest. 

The blade crumpled like it was made of paper. Both Sorey and the man stared at it in utter shock. Lailah looked pleased by the turn of events. 

“I thought you said I only had powers when I wore the glove?” Sorey asked her.

“Well, yes, that’s kind of true,” Lailah admitted, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Some you only get with the glove, others you’ll have as long as that mark is on you.”

Dropping the knife, the man bolted. He still had the woman’s handbag. 

“Hey!” Sorey shouted after him. 

“Hurry. He’s getting away!” Lailah said, clapping her hands excitedly. 

She was very clearly loving the thrill of the chase. Sorey didn’t have time to reprimand her for it. He hurried after the man, who had quite the unfair head start. There was no way he’d be able to...

The mark on Sorey’s hand flared with heat, and then the street was flying past him like he’d just jumped on top of a speeding train. Five more strides, and he was just behind the man. Two more, and he’d overtaken him. He skidded to a stop, ready to stop the man with force if he had too. However, the man chose that moment to turn back to see if he was being pursued. Sorey braced himself as the man ran straight into him, but as with everything else this evening, he felt no pain. The man bounced off of him and fell to the ground. He groaned as he tried to roll onto his front. 

“Quick!” Lailah exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. “Say something heroic!”

Sorey panicked. He reached down and took the handbag.

“That’ll teach you to not take someone else’s property,” he said, cringing as the words left his mouth. 

“It’s fine,” Lailah insisted. “We’ll work on that.”

Sorey raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Will we now?”

“You obviously have a great passion for saving those in danger, Sorey. Why wouldn’t you want to become their hero? Why wouldn’t you want to save them all?”

Sorey had to admit, the idea was tempting. He could hear sirens approaching, and the woman in the waitress uniform was running down the street towards him. He held out her handbag, but she went for him instead. Before Sorey knew what was happening, he was being enveloped in a tight hug. 

“Are you okay?” the woman asked. “I can’t believe how brave you were! It was incredible! I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”

The man groaned again. Judging from the noises he was making, he wouldn’t be getting up and mugging people again any time soon. The woman glared at him and kicked him in the side. Sorey winced. 

“Now who better give up the goods?” she exclaimed, kicking him again for good measure. 

“I think you broke something,” the man moaned. 

Sorey looked down at his hands. Just how strong was he now? And he was fast too?

“Super strength and super speed,” Lailah said. “Those are both abilities you’ll retain without the glove.”

“What else can I do?”

“I’m afraid that is something I will only discuss with the hero.” She smiled at him. “Which could be you. If you’ve reached a decision.”

Red and blue flashing lights appeared down the street, rapidly approaching. Sorey slowly backed away, while the woman continued to torment her now helpless attacker. His eyes felt heavy. He couldn’t make any important decisions now. He needed sleep. 

“We’ll discuss it more in the morning,” Lailah decided, seeing how tired he was. 

He barely suppressed a wide yawn. He managed to make it into another alley before the police arrived. He could have stayed and gotten a lift home from them, but it would involve answering a lot of questions he didn’t want to answer. Both to them, and to Gramps, once he arrived home in police custody. Besides, he had a quicker method of travel in mind. 

“Hey Lailah,” he said. “Flying - with glove or without glove?”

“With glove,” Lailah said. “I think the fall should have answered that for you.” 

Sorey looked down at the glove, which had been tightly clenched in his hand all this time. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to try flying again, seeing how bad he’d been at it earlier, but he just wanted to get home as fast as possible. He gave Lailah his best pleading expression.

“If I put on the glove and fly, can you...” He gestured at his hand, hoping she’d understand what he wanted. 

She nodded, smiling kindly. 

“Of course. Give me you hand, brave hero. I’ll guide you home.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sorey didn’t get the chance to think of last night as a dream. The moment he opened his eyes the next morning, Lailah was hovering above him. She had her chin resting in both hands, smiling serenely while she watched him sleep.

“Good morning, Sorey! I hope you’re well rested.”

Sorey almost swallowed his own tongue as he hurriedly rolled out of bed and away from the sudden presence. He put a hand over his racing heart. 

“Lailah,” he said breathlessly. “Have you been here all night?”

“Yes. Most of it.” Lailah drifted to the edge of the bed, sitting neatly with her hands in her lap. “I left for a few minutes after you fell asleep. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks.”

“Which is why I’m absolutely astounded by the state of your room. I mean really, Sorey, dirty clothes don’t belong on the floor. They belong in a laundry basket.” 

As if to make a point about how easy it should be, Lailah held out her hand. One of Sorey’s dirty socks wriggled its way free of the clothing pile he’d left next to the door, and hung in the air like a limp worm. With a flick of her wrist, Lailah sent it flying to the basket in the corner of his room, the one he usually rested his library books on. Though now he thought about it, maybe it was supposed to be for his laundry. 

“You can move things without touching them?” Sorey gasped.

“Really, Sorey?” Lailah smiled, amused. “Is that so amazing after what you found out you can do?”

“Oh yeah.” Sorey regarded the mark on his hand bitterly. The bright gold design stood out like a buttercup amongst soil. There was no way no one would notice it. “Will this fade over time? If Gramps sees it, he’ll think I got a tattoo and go nuts.”

“It will not fade until the Age of Chaos has passed. But... these might be helpful in the meantime.”

Lailah raised her hand again. Two black gloves sprung into the air and landed in Sorey’s awaiting hands. He frowned at them. 

“I didn’t even know I had these,” he said. 

“All the more reason to keep things tidy.”

He slipped them on. They were nice: made of leather with a designer mark near the cuff. Why hadn’t he worn these recently? 

“I’m going to get some weird looks,” he sighed, his knees clicking slightly as he stood. “Who wears gloves in the middle of summer?” 

He stretched his arms over his head, checking the time on his bedside clock. Half ten in the morning. He’d slept in later than usual, but that was to be expected after a night of stopping crime. He was surprised Gramps hadn’t sent Mason to wake him yet. Maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought when he snuck back in last night...

The scent of hot pancakes wafted under Sorey’s door, reminding him of how little he’d eaten yesterday evening. He hastily plucked some clothes from his cupboard: a loose blue shirt and black jeans. Gramps had a rule about breakfast attire, and there would definitely be questions if he went down wearing the same clothes from yesterday. 

He was about to pull his dress shirt off over his head, when he remembered Lailah was still sitting there. He turned to her.

“Can you... er...”

“Oh. Of course.”

Lailah put her hands over her eyes, like she was about to start playing peekaboo with a baby. It didn’t make Sorey feel any more comfortable. He’d feel rude asking her to leave though, so he simply turned around and tried to forget that she was there. Which was difficult to do when she kept talking to him. 

“So what are your plans for today?” she asked. “Will you be refining your fighting skills and perfecting your ability to fly? Or will you be doing your research to track down the nefarious villain, Calamity Lord?”

“Neither,” Sorey said, hopping on one foot as he pulled on his jeans. “I’ve got lectures.”

“About the struggles of previous heroes and how you can better yourself from their mistakes?”

“No. I think today is translation.”

“Oh.” Lailah’s expression fell, and so did her hands. Luckily Sorey was fully clothes by now. “I must say, that doesn’t sound like the greatest use of a hero’s time.”

“Well I’m not technically the hero yet.” The glove was still on his bedside. “In fact,” he picked it up and put it in the drawer, “I’m not even going to take this with me.”

“But you must!” Lailah exclaimed.

Sorey heard the drawer slide open, but he was already on his way to the kitchen. Lailah wouldn’t dare make objects float in front of Gramps. 

“Sorey!” Lailah came through the wall without warning, and Sorey couldn’t help but flinch. “What would happen if you were attacked? Without the glove, your power is limited. You need it to wield seraphic artes!”

“I didn’t need seraphic artes last night,” Sorey reminded her. 

“But you weren’t fighting a super villain then!” Lailah stood in front of him, blocking his path. Sorey knew he could just walk through her, but the last thing he wanted to do was upset her by reminding her she was just a ghost. “You may have only started seeing me since you got that glove, but I’ve been in Ladylake for a very long time. I’ve followed Calamity Lord before. I went to his lair. I know what he’s up to.”

“You do?” Sorey’s eyes brightened. “Tell me! I’ll let the police know, and then they can just arrest him.”

“This isn’t something the police can handle,” Lailah said. “And I can’t just tell you. You need to do this for yourself! If you can’t find and handle Calamity Lord using your own abilities, then you’ll never be able to stop the real evil that’s at work here!”

“Real evil?” Sorey rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t awake enough for this. “Gods, Lailah, every time you try to answer something for me you just give me more questions.”

“Sorey? Why are you having a conversation with yourself in the hallway?”

Sorey shut his mouth as Gramps’ voice called from the kitchen. He didn’t realise he’d been speaking so loud. How much had he heard? With a sigh, Lailah stepped aside so he could pass. 

The kitchen was still warm from the recently-used stove. Gramps was sitting at the table, reading the paper with his usual mug of black coffee. Across from him, a plate of fresh pancakes was slowly being consumed by melted butter and maple syrup. Sorey licked his lips as he sat in the chair opposite. 

“These look amazing! Nice job!” he called to Mason, who was busy washing the mixing bowl in the sink. 

“You’re up late,” Gramps said, laying the paper down so he could get a better look at him. 

_More like so he can scrutinise me_ , Sorey thought, as he gulped down some orange juice. 

“I didn’t sleep very well,” Sorey admitted, pulling the pancakes closer to him. 

“I guessed as much,” Gramps said casually. “By the way, for future reference, you should use the bathroom window next time you’re sneaking back in during the dead of night. It squeaks less than the study one.”

Sorey was glad his mouth was empty, or else he’d have sprayed chewed food all over the table. He put his face in his hands. Of course Gramps would know. Gramps knew everything. He was probably a second away from demanding to see how well Sorey could fly. 

Gramps didn’t say anything until Mason had left the kitchen. Then, he pulled his chair closer to the table and fixed Sorey with a knowing smirk. 

“How did it go? I take it from your late return that you were successful.”

“Huh?” Sorey said, genuinely confused. 

Gramps chuckled. 

“Come on, Sorey. I was once young, you know. You sneak out in the dead of night, and don’t come back until a ridiculously early time in the morning. Plus, you didn’t get much sleep. It doesn’t take a smart man to realise where you were.”

“Huh?” _Huh?!_

Lailah’s giggle floated across the kitchen. Sorey tried not to openly stare when he saw her sitting on the stove. She waved at him cheerfully. 

“You went to see Mikleo, didn’t you?” Gramps sipped his coffee. “You couldn’t even wait until morning to give him the glove and confess?”

“What?!” Lailah exclaimed, flying off of her seat. “You’re going to give the glove to someone else?”

Sorey’s mind reeled as he desperately tried to focus on one conversation at a time. Still, he couldn’t help look round at Lailah’s outburst. Gramps followed his gaze. 

“What’s wrong? Did Mason leave the stove on?”

“I didn’t confess,” Sorey insisted. “And if I did we certainly wouldn’t have jumped straight to... that.”

“Oh? Where did you sneak off to then?”

“Sorey. I don’t know what you’re planning, but you mustn’t give away the glove!” Lailah stamped her foot, but it made no sound. “I absolutely forbid it! If you give it to someone, I’ll spend the rest of your life haunting you and throwing things across the room when you least expect it.”

“I was... erm...” It was hard for Sorey to formulate a convincing lie whilst trying to tune out Lailah’s voice. 

Gramps held up a hand. 

“Never mind. Don’t tell me. There should always be some secrecy between a gramps and his grandson.”

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat when Gramps looked directly at Lailah. Even Lailah’s eyes widened minutely. She froze. But then Gramps scratched his chin and frowned, and Sorey realised he was only looking at the clock on the wall behind her. 

“That clock’s stopped again,” he muttered. “Typical. I’ve got antiques from the Asgard Era that still function perfectly, but this so-called modern clock breaks at every chance it gets.”

Sorey ate the rest of his pancakes in silence. Lailah still hovered in his line of sight, and he could feel the waves of anxiety and irritation rolling off of her. But there was no way of consoling her while Gramps was still in the room. Besides, what would Sorey say? That he would keep the glove if it made her happy? He couldn’t, it just wasn’t true. The glove was for his One and Only, and no super-powers, villains or ghosts were going to stop him from giving it to him. 

When it was nearing the time Zaveid was due to pick him up, Sorey popped back to his room to collect the glove (much to Lailah’s delight), and then sent a text to his driver, asking him to meet him outside the gates. The walk would give him some much-needed time to talk to Lailah. 

“I’m sorry about the clock,” Lailah said sheepishly. “Sometimes when I’m in the same room as electronics, they break for no reason.”

“It’s fine,” Sorey insisted. 

There was an awkward pause, where neither of them knew what to say. Sorey was fine with that. He’d already decided that he’d quickly stop by the museum on the way to his university. Mikleo would get the glove, there’d be around ten minutes for him to confess the deepest depths of his love, another five hopefully for some sort of reciprocation (or a stone-cold silence in which Mikleo would have no idea what to say), and then Zaveid would have to drive like a mad-man for him to make his 1 o’clock lecture. Lailah could talk to him all she wanted when he got back, and there’d be nothing he could do because the glove would quite literally be out of his hands. 

But when Sorey got to the gate, Lailah was still following him. 

“I’ll only be gone for a few hours,” he promised her. 

Luckily Monday wasn’t a busy day for him, and he’d already been told that the lecture he had at four o’clock was cancelled due to illness. 

“There will be no hurry to get back,” Lailah assured him. “I’ve never been to the university before. I want to take all the time we can exploring it.”

“What?” Sorey almost tripped. “You’re coming too?”

“If it’s okay.” 

Of course it’d have to be okay. Lailah’s smile was too precious to destroy. Sorey scratched the back of his head nervously. 

“Alright then. But you should probably make your own way there. It’ll be a lot quicker, and you won’t get stuck in traffic like I probably will.”

It occurred to him that he could probably fly to university if he wanted... but that line of thought was too tempting. This was precisely why he needed to give the glove to Mikleo as soon as possible: the idea of keeping it and being the hero kept crossing his mind. 

“I don’t mind traffic,” Lailah insisted. “I want to get a feel for your life, Sorey. I want to see what a typical day is like for the one who’s going to save the world.”

And Sorey couldn’t argue, because that was the moment Zaveid showed up. 

 

The drive to the museum was intense, to say the least. Of course, Sorey had to tell his driver that there was a change in plan about where he wanted to go. And of course Lailah had heard this, and instantly folded her arms in a suspicious way. She had no way of knowing the significance of the museum, but the fact that Sorey hadn’t told her about wanting to go there was enough to make her concerned. 

The whole way there, she had Sorey fixed with a half-accusing, half-begging stare. He didn’t know what to say to her. And his lack of speech encouraged Zaveid to keep making random comments in an attempt to break the uncharacteristic silence. 

“Do you have a window open back there?” the driver asked. “Cause there’s definitely a chill coming from your direction.”

Sorey couldn’t climb out fast enough when the limo finally pulled over. He checked to ensure the glove was safely folded in his back pocket, and made his way towards the entrance. 

“So... that was fun right?” he said to Lailah, who wordlessly followed behind him. “Is that the first time you’ve ridden in a limo?”

She said nothing. Sorey felt a shiver run down his spine. It was unnerving to be followed by a ghost who wouldn’t speak. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if she was smiling, but her expression was blank and haunting. He decided to stop worrying about her and focus on what he’d come here to do. He wanted to memorise every detail of this moment, so that he could always look back and remember.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Elysia,” Symmone greeted from her usual spot at the help desk. 

“Hi.” Sorey returned her dazzling smile. “Is Mikleo around?”

“He’s in Heldalf’s office,” Symmone said. She leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow. “He’s packing up.”

“What?” Sorey exclaimed. 

Had Mikleo finally had enough and quit the museum? Had Heldalf fired him? The possible scenarios whirled through Sorey’s mind. If any of them were true, why hadn’t he been told first? It seemed like the sort of thing Mikleo would run by him first, even if he was set in his decision. Symmone laughed at his crestfallen expression. 

“Bless you, you haven’t heard yet have you?” She pressed a button on her keyboard and spoke into the microphone. “Mikleo. Your most favourite person in the whole world is here to see you. Get yourself down here.”

Symmone settled back into her seat without any explanation, and turned her attention to her black-painted nails, which would be in need of a new coat soon. Sorey wasn’t sure whether he should remain standing here, or retreat to one of the chairs on the other side of the lobby. Butterflies were beginning to hatch in his stomach. _Maybe I should have prepared a speech or something?_

“Don’t worry. He’ll be here soon,” Symmone said, mistaking his apprehension for confusion. “I’m kind of surprised he hasn’t told you yet, actually. But I suppose it has been hectic around here since we got the news. I guess he hasn’t had the chance to yet. I won’t spoil it for you, don’t worry.”

Lailah drifted through the desk so that she was standing at Symmone’s side. She began to read whatever the small girl had on her computer screen, her eyes darkening as she did. Sorey didn’t have long to wonder what she was seeing, because familiar footsteps sounded down the corridor and then Mikleo was walking towards him, in no rush at all. He stopped when he saw Sorey waiting there, his eyebrows shooting up into his pale hair. Sorey knew he must have been busy, because it wasn’t looking as neat as normal.  

“Oh,” Mikleo said, looking from Symmone to Sorey. “I didn’t think it would actually be you, Sorey. I thought she was just messing with me.”

“Because you’re just so fun to mess with,” Symmone said, pouting. 

Sorey couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’m your favourite person in the world?” he clarified. Gods, that thought made his heart feel like it wanted to burst through his chest.

Mikleo looked mildly alarmed, before he crossed his arms and stubbornly turned his head away. 

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve known you longer than anyone else. It would only make sense.”

He guided Sorey away from the desk, so Symmone wouldn’t be able to overhear them. Unfortunately, Mikleo wasn’t aware of the other eavesdropper, who followed them to their secluded area. 

“So this is Mikleo,” Lailah muttered, in an empty voice. And if she’d had any doubts about Sorey’s business at the museum, they were now gone.

He would have glared at her, but he was still too elated by what Mikleo had called him. So far, the signs were pointing in his favour. 

“So what did you want?” Mikleo asked. “Sorry. I wouldn’t normally rush you, but we’re... busy today.”

“Yeah, Symmone said.” It didn’t make sense to Sorey. Looking around, he couldn’t see anyone else here. He guessed attendance must still be low since the last Calamity Lord attack. “Are you allowed to tell me with what?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it yet. It’s big news. Probably the most notable thing in the last decade.”

“Seriously? Right, stop teasing. Now you have to tell me!”

Mikleo chuckled. 

“Okay, I’ll just say it. There was a mild earthquake last night, out in the mountains where those old ruins are. You know, the ones dating back to the Age of Chaos?” 

Sorey nodded. He was aware of those. They were the ruins Michael had funded the exploration of, the ones where nothing exciting had been found. 

“It seems the earthquake shook a few stones loose. One of the walls collapsed, and there was a corridor behind it. A secret corridor. One that no one has ever explored before!”

Mikleo was almost bouncing on the soles of his feet. He wasn’t a fan of the Age of Chaos, but the prospect of a significant historical find was thrilling to all ruin nerds, no matter their era of preference. Even Sorey felt a pang of jealousy at the thought. _Mikleo’s going to go see it... and I’ll be sat in translation._

“Heldalf’s already got a team out there preparing for an excavation,” Mikleo continued. “He’s going out to oversee it himself, and he’s taking me with him. And Symmone.”

The receptionist waved at Sorey when he looked over at her. 

“How come? I thought he hated you,” Sorey said, suddenly concerned. 

“Apparently my uncle insisted.” Mikleo shrugged. “Besides, we’re both professionals. There’s no reason we can’t pretend to tolerate each other in the name of historical research.”

“I... guess.” Sorey frowned. The thought of Mikleo being in the mountains with someone who so obviously despised him was truly unsettling. Supposing Heldalf took this opportunity to rid himself of him... or what if there were traps in the ruins that Heldalf knew had yet to be sprung? _It was a terrible, terrible shame, what happened to Mikleo. Still, accidents are a risk we take when exploring these ancient sites._

“I’m just collecting some papers Heldalf needs, and then I need to go home and pack. I need to change into something more appropriate for ruin exploration.” Mikleo clapped his hands together excitedly. His gaze lowered to Sorey’s gloves. “Oh! I mustn’t forget to pack some gloves. Just in case there’s a bit of climbing involved.”

Sorey’s hand slipped into his pocket. He couldn’t have asked for a better set up line. _You need gloves, eh Mikleo? Well, I’ve got a glove for you._ It was perfect. All he had to do was pull it out and give it to him, and then there’d be no more of this ‘be the hero’ nonsense. He still didn’t have a clear idea of what he would say to confess his love, but he was sure the delighted expression on Mikleo’s face would give him all the inspiration he’d need. 

Mikleo stopped talking and smiled at him. Waiting. _He’s waiting for me to say something._ Sorey drew a deep breath. 

“I-”

He couldn’t help but notice Lailah, standing behind his friend, looking out of the window. She still had that eerily calm expression on her face. She was staring out at Ladylake, as if it might fall into the ground at any moment. Sorey’s eyes went back to Mikleo, but then they were immediately pulled back to Lailah. 

“It’s just as I feared,” she said softly, to no one in particular. “History is about to repeat itself.”

She turned to look at Sorey, who was still staring at her. It had to look weird. Mikleo’s smile was slowly fading. He twisted his head, trying to see what Sorey was so transfixed by. 

“I don’t blame you for not wanting this burden, Sorey,” she said. “It was too much for the last hero. He fell, and it took what remained of the seraphim to seal the evil away. If you accept this burden, you will be alone. You might also fall, or maybe you will possess a strength the last hero lacked. Either way, I can guarantee this: if you do not accept your duty, then that same evil will rise. It will consume Ladylake and everything you love. And this time, there will be no seraphim to stop it.”

Sorey felt as though a shadow had fallen over him. The room had grown dark. The sunlight was gone from the sky. He shivered, almost able to imagine he could see his breath as a cloud before him. Shadows moved beyond the corner of his eye, laughing, plotting and pointing. His blood began to freeze.

“I-” he choked out. 

His lips were numb and wouldn’t work. His question was stuck at the back of his throat. _Everything I love? Even-?_

“Sorey?” 

Sudden warmth cupped his cheek as Mikleo lifted a hand to his face. Sorey jumped, not because of the gesture, but because of the heat that shot through him from the contact. He blinked, and the horrors he’d imagined were gone. Lailah watched him knowingly. _Yes, gone. For now._

“Are you okay?” Mikleo asked, lilac eyes widening in concern. “Maybe you should skip out on your lectures today? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I didn’t sleep very well,” he said numbly. 

He removed his hand from his pocket so that he could take Mikleo’s hand in his own, gently lowered it from his face. He sighed. 

“I’m really sorry, Sorey, but I have to get back to work.” Mikleo bit his lip. “What was it you wanted?”

“I-” Sorey looked to Lailah one last time. _Everything I love will be consumed?_ She nodded at him and he sighed. She’d won. “I... just came by to wish you luck. With your excavation.”

Mikleo blinked, clearly confused. 

“You came by to wish me luck for something you didn’t know about until just now?” 

“Yes.”

Sorey chuckled and shrugged in what he hoped was a very Sorey-like way. That normally encouraged Mikleo to overlook his blatant lies. Mikleo shook his head in despair, but Sorey could see the corner’s of his lips struggling to resist the urge to grin.

“You better be back to normal for our Saturday movie night.”

“I’ll see you before then, won’t I?” 

Mikleo shrugged. 

“I don’t know. It depends on what we find out there.”

“Be careful, alright? If anything were to happen to you-”

“Your life would lack a voice of reason?” Mikleo teased.

Sorey smiled softly. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” 

His phone began to buzz in his pocket. He carefully pulled it out without accidentally making the glove come out too. It was a message from Zaveid. 

 

_Hurry up kid! I agreed to driving like a maniac, but even I’ll only be able to go so fast. Z._

 

Cursing, Sorey spun to the nearest clock to look at the time. _Damn!_ So much for his careful plan. 

“I’m going to be late,” he realised. 

“Get going then!” Mikleo exclaimed. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat when I get back.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!”

Mikleo was already walking back towards the corridor. Sorey knew he should dash back to the limo as fast as he could, but something tugged at his heart, making it impossible to turn away. A horrible sense of dread had settled in his gut. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘bye’ back, because what if this really was goodbye? What if he never saw Mikleo again after this? 

“Sorey,” Lailah said, settling a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” 

But he still didn’t move. Not until Mikleo was completely gone from his sight. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will have some Mikleo POV (if all goes as planned!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter ended up being a big one! XD Over 7,000 words - I think that's my longest chapter yet! 
> 
> Also I'm in absolute awe of this amazing fanart that Looveel did of child Sorey and Mikleo in chapter 2! :D  
> http://looveel-realm.tumblr.com/post/156823984449/a-hero-in-the-age-of-chaos-is-a-gift-to-this-world
> 
> Thank you so much Looveel! :D And a massive thanks to everyone else who's commented, left kudos, or even just read this fic! :) I'm so happy that people are enjoying it! ^-^

It was impossible for Sorey to pay attention to his translation lecture, and not because Lailah had joined him. She wondered around the lecture hall, admiring the projector with shining eyes. Whenever the lecturer turned to write something on the white board, she lingered near his shoulder, eager to see what it’d be. When they were given a slide to do a rough translation of, and the lecturer returned to his desk, Lailah still followed him. 

“He’s not even doing work,” she called to Sorey. “He has a magazine hidden inside that textbook!”

When she leant too close, the lecturer shivered and went to shut the open window. Lailah relocated to the white board, testing to see if her hand could smudge the ink. It would have been annoying for Sorey, if he was concentrating enough to make notes. But he wasn’t. His mind was a million miles away, at the Gallahad ruins, where Mikleo was right now. The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach still hadn’t subsided. 

And even if he did manage to put his best friend and the impending danger he was possibly walking into out of his mind, Lailah’s presence was a constant reminder of what he’d agreed to do. _I’m going to be the hero. I’m going to fight crime in a white spandex suit._

Halfway through the lecture, Sorey excused himself and packed his textbooks away. Lailah reluctantly followed him from the hall. 

“Your Mikleo friend was right,” she said. “You really don’t look good. It might be that your body is still adjusting to your new power? In that case, you should get some bedrest.”

“It’s not that,” Sorey said, his voice lacking its usual energy. “I just feel... anxious. I’ll be better once I actually understand this hero thing I’ve agreed to.”

He passed the canteen. The noises blaring from the doorway made him stagger. The chattering of students, the clatter of cutlery, the slam of trays being set down on tables... Sorey grasped his head, wishing for nothing but peace and quiet. His feet began leading him to the one place he knew he’d get it. 

“You don’t need to be anxious about this, Sorey,” Lailah assured him, keeping her voice soft so it wouldn’t add to his apparent headache. “You’re not going to face this trial alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just because you’re the first hero I’ve ever taught doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. I know just as much as those seraphim did. And the best part is - you don’t need to worry about me when we’re in the heat of battle. I’m already dead! So there’s nothing anyone can do to take me from your side.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about.” The thought of battling against villains still felt like worlds away, but Sorey still remembered the mugger in the alley. How the knife had crumpled against his chest. The speed with which he’d run. The warmth radiating from the mark on his hand. It had all been so effortless, so easy. But would it always be like that? “What happens if I’m not enough to stop Calamity Lord? What if the evil defeats me like it did the last hero? I mean... this evil has probably been around for thousands of years. It’s had all that time to learn and evolve and I... I don’t even know how to fly yet.”

“But you’ll learn.” Lailah’s smile was gut-wrenchingly encouraging. “You live in the most successful and technologically advanced Ladylake there’s ever been. Of all the past heroes, you have the best chance of sealing the evil away once and for all.”

Sorey didn’t have the heart to correct her. He didn’t want to mention that that hadn’t helped the last hero, and that he would be the first hero without seraphic aid. There was only one thing that would make him feel better, and it was the same thing that made the nerves ebb away before every exam and test he ever faced - historical research. He was going to read everything he could get his hands on about the Age of Chaos and seraphim and heroes and ancient evil. Then, and only then, would he feel ready to give this hero thing a go. 

“Library.” Lailah read the sign hanging above the double doors. She beamed at him. “What an excellent idea! Gathering knowledge about your foe will definitely give you an advantage over him. See, you’re already off to a great start!”

Lailah drifted through the still-closed doors, and Sorey took a deep breath before opening one as quietly as he could. He just wanted to grab some books and leave. He didn’t want the librarian catching him and throwing him out like she had last time. 

“This place is huge!” Lailah exclaimed.

Sorey fought back the urge to shush her. She was a ghost. No one could hear her except for him. 

“I need you to help me,” he whispered to her. “Find the librarian. Warn me if she’s coming my way. She’ll throw me out if she catches me in here again.”

“How unethical,” Lailah exclaimed. “The knowledge in these books should be free for all to read. But never fear, Sorey. I’ll cover for you.”

Lailah vanished through one of the bookshelves, humming under her breath. Sorey shivered. Hearing Lailah but not seeing Lailah was unnerving. He snuck through the shelves, listening intently for the sound of footfalls. Edna was small, but if Sorey remembered correctly, she’d been wearing boots the last time they’d met. Such heavy shoes were bound to make plenty of noise. 

“She’s over here!” Lailah called, making him almost jump into one of the shelves. The books rattled in warning. 

Sorey wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead once they’d settled. He was boiling, and wearing gloves definitely wasn’t helping. He pulled them off, wiping his moist palms on the back of his jeans. Still no sounds from Edna. 

He managed to make it to the history section without Lailah giving him any more heart attacks. The thick volumes were arranged in order of era. He’d scanned all the spines twice before he realised his dilemma - he had no idea which era would be most relevant. Should he search for information on the Age of Chaos, as difficult as that may be, or should he look into the ages before that, and see what was said about seraphim and heroes? There were hundreds of books to choose from, and none of the covers or titles on the spine gave him any clue as to what the contents would be. 

He could have searched through the online collection, but he suspected that the oldest books would be the most helpful, and those were the ones that had yet to be made into ebooks. The pages were too fragile to be scanned. 

Sorey scratched his chin. There was only one thing to do: look at the contents page of each book until he found something useful or relevant. He winced, knowing such a method would take weeks, maybe even months. Before he could start, someone cleared their throat from beside him.

“Somehow I don’t think my apology chocolates are in that bag.”

Edna was standing at the end of the shelf, leaning casually against it whilst drumming her fingers rhythmically against the wood. Sorey froze, torn between begging and running. _Why hadn’t Lailah warned him..._

As if on cue, Lailah drifted through the shelf between him and Edna, her eyes wide. 

“Sorey! The woman I was watching just left! I don’t think she’s the librari...”

The ghost trailed off when she noticed Edna watching them, or watching Sorey at least. She flashed him a guilty smile. 

“Oops. Shall I try scare her away?”

Sorey shook his head. 

“I thought not.” Edna huffed. “No one ever brings me chocolates. Shame, it might have made me spare you.”

“Please don’t throw me out,” Sorey pleaded, ensuring he kept his voice quiet. “I’m really sorry about last time. I promise I won’t be a disturbance anymore. I have my phone on silent, and-”

“If you’re really sorry, then do the normincarena as penance.”

“The what?”

“Sorey,” Lailah said from beside him. “I think she’s joking with you.”

Sorey couldn’t be sure though. Edna was smiling - that small smile that was equal parts charming and terrifying - but she always wore that expression. She was watching him expectantly. He decided to make the most of her attention. 

“Can you help me find an appropriate book?” he asked. “I need something with details about the Age of Chaos, or maybe something about ancient superheroes and seraphic power, if that sounds like anything you’re familiar with?”

“Do I look like I know anything about history books?” Edna demanded, closing her eyes in disgust. She removed her glasses and began to clean the lenses on the bottom of her yellow top. “I _could_ check the online database for relevant texts, but I don’t really want to.”

“Please.” It was hard for Sorey to sound desperate without raising his voice. “It’s really important.”

“And it’s your job,” Lailah added, even though her words fell on deaf ears. 

Edna took her time cleaning her glasses, eyes still shut. Finally, she returned them to her face and let her mischievous eyes sweep over Sorey’s face. 

“I might be persuaded,” she said. “But it’ll cost you.”

“What do you want?” Sorey asked. 

“If you really want to find your book, then do the normincarena-”

“I don’t know-!” Edna raised an eyebrow at him, and he quickly covered his mouth, realising how loudly he’d just spoken. “Sorry. I don’t know what that is.”

“Then I don’t know how to help you.”

With a gesture of farewell, Edna turned and walked away. 

“Wait!” Sorey whisper-shouted, but she either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.

She went down the narrow aisle between two bookshelves, back towards her desk. Sorey rushed down the the next aisle, hoping to get to the other end before her. Otherwise, who knew how long he’d be chasing her around the library for? As he moved, with this goal in mind, he felt the mark on his hand flare with sudden heat. A breeze rushed through his hair, the books on the shelves rattled, and before he could realise what had just happened, he was standing at the end of Edna’s aisle. 

She stopped in her tracks, blinking at him in surprise. She peered over her shoulder at where he’d just been, and then back to where he was now. Sorey cleared his throat, embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to use his power just then. He’d only wanted to get her attention. 

_Is that how it works? It activates when I have a clear objective in mind?_

“Sorry,” Sorey said, in response to her puzzled expression. 

“If you apologise to me one more time, I’m going to start calling you Sorry instead of Sorey,” Edna huffed. “Now, are you going to move out of my way, or have you decided to pay me penance?”

Sorey wished she’d asked for normal payment. It would have been so much easier just to give her actual money for her service, but somehow, he thought offering it to her now would make her mad. He looked down at his feet. The normincarena sounded like some kind of dance, and he couldn’t dance to save his life. There was no way he’d perform the normincarena with dignity... although if the normincarena was a dance that could be done with dignity, he doubted Edna would be so intent on him performing it. 

_She just wants to see me embarrass myself. It doesn’t have to be a real dance, I just have to amuse her._

Biting his lip, Sorey lifted an arm over his head and pushed the other out in front of him, like he was preparing to do a cartwheel. Edna raised an eyebrow as he began to shake his hips. He wiggled his fingers in time to an imaginary beat. 

“Is this right?” he asked. “Am I doing it?”

“You’re not meant to have both feet on the ground,” Edna said, lifting a hand to her mouth. She was clearly trying to hide a smile, but instead she pretended to yawn. 

“Of course I’m not,” Sorey muttered under his breath. 

He lifted his back foot, his hip-shaking slowing as he did. There was no way he could concentrate on moving every part of his body, while also trying not to fall over...

“Let me help,” Lailah said, coming behind him. 

She put a hand on his back to steady him, and then she grabbed his raised arm and began to spin him on the spot. The colour left Sorey’s face, but he couldn’t very well ask her what the heck she was doing when Edna was right there. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, heat flaring in his cheeks, while Lailah continued to move him like a dancing puppet. She was definitely enjoying this far too much. When she went to lift his leg higher, Sorey finally swatted her hands away. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, turning to Edna. “That’s enough, right?”

Edna snorted, not even trying to hide her amusement now. 

“You moron. I can’t believe you actually did it,” she said. “I was going to look up your stupid book anyway. What do you think I was going back to my desk for?”

She snickered as she pushed past him, making sure to bump her shoulder against his as she went. Sorey buried his flaming face in his hands. _Well, it could have been worse. At least Mikleo wasn’t here to see it._

“I thought you were magnificent,” Lailah said. 

He glared at her, and hurried over to join Edna at her desk. She was already sitting in her high-back, leather chair, typing search words into the database. He leant over the desk, trying to see the screen, but she purposefully turned it away. 

“Let’s see. Nothing about _superheroes_ ,” she looked up at him and smirked, “and there’s only one book about the Age of Chaos. But it’s already been taken out.”

Sorey felt his shoulders slump in defeat. 

“By who?” he asked. 

“By you. The day I kicked you out.”

Sorey’s eyes widened. He remembered now - the brown leather book with gold on the spine, the way it’d caught his eye, how he’d taken it just before he’d been literally pushed out the door. He hadn’t had a chance to read it yet, but he still remembered its name. 

“The Celestial Record,” he said, and Edna nodded.

“Yep. That’s the one. I take it you haven’t read it yet?”

“I haven’t had the time,” he confessed.

“I can imagine.” Edna rested her head in her hands. “The busy life of a kind-of celebrity. I feel so sorry for you, having to be so busy and popular all the time. It must be such a bore.”

Sorey couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. He shrugged modestly, his hand lifting to fiddle with one of his feather earrings. His unwanted fame was always an uncomfortable topic to discuss, especially with those he hardly knew. Edna watched his fidgeting with amusement, but it soon turned into a scowl. She caught his wrist and pulled his hand away from the feather. 

“If you haven’t read that book yet, then why do you have the cover art tattooed on your hand?” she asked.

“What?”

Sorey glanced down at the hand she was holding. The hero’s mark was in full view. He struggled to think of an excuse while Edna smirked. 

“I bet it’s not even a real tattoo,” she said, reaching out to touch it. “I bet you drew it in permanent ink or something. I don’t imagine you’re the type of person to-”

The moment Edna’s fingertips brushed the mark, Sorey felt a jolt run through him like an electric current. He gasped, and in that same instant, Edna went flying back across her desk. She hit the side of the nearest shelf, making a few of the books fall from their place, and slumped to the ground. Thin smoke was rising off her body. 

“Edna!” Sorey exclaimed, leaping over the desk.

But Lailah was already at the smaller girl’s side, hands on either side of Edna’s unconscious face. When she lifted her eyes to Sorey, they were hard and serious. 

“Lock the doors,” she commanded him. “We don’t want anyone to come in and see this.”

Sorey cursed under his breath and rushed to do what she said. He felt the mark on his hand trying to blossom with warmth as he ran, but he bit his tongue and kept the power at bay. He glared at the mark. _It’s all your fault..._ or was it _his_ fault? 

He hadn’t liked her holding his wrist, but there hadn’t been the thought to get her off crossing his mind... had there? Was the surge of power a response to his unconscious thoughts? Was Edna now... He slid the bolt over the doors before he could finish that thought. If he’d accidentally killed someone... he didn’t know how he’d be able to live with that. Even when he’d chased off the mugger who tried to stab him, he hadn’t done so with the intent of killing him. He didn’t want to kill anyone - ever!

When he returned, Edna was propped up against the shelf. Sorey sighed in relief, a hand going to his heart, when he saw her eyes were open. She’d gone pale, her eyes slightly dazed, but it wasn’t him she was looking at. It was Lailah.

“I think she’ll be okay,” Lailah said, oblivious to the younger girl’s stare. “I must say though, in all the centuries of watching the heroes come and go, I’ve never seen this happen before.” 

“Could you speak a little quieter,” Edna groaned. “My head is killing me.”

“I’m sorry,” Lailah said to her, then turned back to Sorey. “But then again, I’ve never seen someone touch the hero’s mark either.”

Sorey stared wide-eyed at Lailah, waiting for the moment the ghost would realise what had just happened. Edna had spoken to her. Edna could hear her. Edna could see her. Lailah gasped, putting her hands to her mouth. Her eyes were sparkling when she looked at Edna. 

“Edna? You can see me?” she asked, clearly delighted. 

“Yeah, so?” Edna pushed her away, not noticing when he hand passed right through Lailah’s chest, and staggered to her feet. There was still smoke rising from her blonde hair, specifically from the ends. They had gone from a golden yellow to coppery orange. Sorey tried not to stare as she advanced towards him, her posture stiff. “What the hell did you do to me? I help you out, and you electrocute me with some gag tattoo?”

“I don’t know what I did,” Sorey insisted, holding up his hands in surrender.

He hoped the smaller girl didn’t try to attack him in a blind fit of rage. If a solid blade had crumpled against his skin, he’d hate to see what happened to flesh and bone.  

“He’s right, Edna,” Lailah quickly said, drifting between them. “Sorey has only just been given the mark. He doesn’t know how to use his powers.”

“Powers?” Edna scoffed, eyeing Lailah’s outfit whilst crinkling her nose. “And what are you supposed to be? His lawyer?”

“I’m his guide,” Lailah said, reaching out a hand to her. “My name is Lailah. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Edna stared at the offered hand. Sorey could slowly see the confusion spreading across her face, first in the way her eyebrows pulled together, and then by the way her frown deepened. Had she noticed that she could see right through Lailah’s hand? Had she seen that Lailah’s feet floated a few centimetres off the ground? Could she feel the chill in the air that came from being in the presence of a ghost? 

Edna held her breath and reached out to touch Lailah’s hand. When her fingers passed straight through the ghost’s palm, she drew them back sharply and glared at them, as if they’d somehow deceived her. Sorey saw one of her eyebrows twitch as she finally lifted her eyes back to Lailah’s.

“You’re transparent,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. 

“Well, yes.” Lailah was still smiling as her hand returned to her side. “I am a ghost, after all.”

“A ghost.” Edna looked to Sorey, perhaps for confirmation that Lailah was really there, and not a trick of her dazed mind. When he nodded, Edna inhaled, her eyes widening like she’d been electrocuted all over again. “Give me a moment.”

With movements that were still stiff and cautious, Edna slowly made her way to the back room, behind her desk. Sorey began to call for her to stop, but Lailah settled a cold hand on his shoulder and shook her head. They waited until the back room door had swung shut before speaking. 

“That went surprisingly well,” Lailah said. “For something completely unexpected, I mean.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let her be alone?” Sorey asked, frowning at the door. Who knew what was currently happening on the other side. “What if she runs away? What if she tells someone?”

“What can she tell them? That there’s a ghost in the library? It won’t do her any good - you and her are the only ones who can see me.” Lailah examined the mark on his hand with sudden interest. “I wonder if the same thing will happen to others who touch it? We should conduct an experiment.”

“No.” Sorey was immediately shaking his head. He’d felt the jump of power that’d burst through his mark and into Edna’s frail body. It should have killed her - maybe it had for a few seconds, maybe whoever touched it next time wouldn’t be so lucky. 

“You’re right, that would be foolish.” Lailah drifted up to sit on the desk. She tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder what would happen if I touched your mark?”

Sorey wasn’t sure if she was genuinely asking, or just musing out loud to herself. Either way, he didn’t get the chance to answer, because the back door opened and Edna stepped out. Colour had returned to her face, and the mischief was back in her eyes, although now it was slightly muted by caution. 

No one said anything as Edna walked to her chair and sat down, the leather creaking beneath her. She rested her hands in her lap. 

“I have questions,” she said. 

“Of course you do, Edna,” Lailah said kindly. “It’s only natural after a revelation like this. I bet you didn’t believe in ghosts this morning, or believe that the legend of the hero could be true. And now you’ve found yourself in the presence of both.”

“Hero?” Edna raised an eyebrow, swiveling the chair to face Sorey. “Is she talking about you.”

Sorey nodded, unable to help his smile. Edna sounded skeptical, but not angry or frightened. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Yeah. She’s going to teach me how to be a superhero.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a shadow fell across Edna’s expression. Her eyes began to burn, and the next thing Sorey knew, he was being shouted at. 

“Why the hell are telling me this? Don’t you know the first rule about being a superhero? Protect your secret identity! We’ve spoken to each other like twice before today, and now you’re telling me you’re going to be a superhero? What’s wrong with you!” She spun back to Lailah. “And _you_! What the hell are you thinking? Sorey Elysia? You literally couldn’t have chosen a more recognisable person! The dummy’s famous! People are instantly going to recognise him!”

“I didn’t choose him,” Lailah said. “The glove did.”

Edna put her head in her hands. Sorey shifted uncomfortably in place, his ears still ringing from the verbal assault. And here he’d thought Edna was calm about the situation...

“You two are the biggest idiots I’ve ever met,” Edna grumbled against her desk. When she lifted her head, the fire had left her eyes. “You’ll never pull this off. Not without someone as smart, cunning and sensible as me.”

“You want to help?” Sorey blinked, startled. This was not where he’d expected their conversation to go. 

Edna shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I could be persuaded. It sounds interesting, far more interesting than sitting here all day listening to the chatter on the other side of the doors.” Her eyes narrowed, suddenly business-like. “But first, I have one demand.”

Sorey shut his eyes. _I swear, if it’s to perform the normincarena as penance..._

“Anything, Edna,” Lailah promised, eyes sparkling with delight. 

Edna smiled, her attention focused solely on the ghost. 

“Tell me everything.”

*

There must have been about fifteen people gathered outside the Gallahad ruins, and yet nobody had set a foot inside it. That honour was reserved for the one who’d raised the funding for this expedition, the one who Mikleo was currently walking behind, whose bags he was carrying. _Heldalf_. No one would _dare_ take that honour from him. 

Mikleo set the bags down with the rest of the equipment, while Heldalf went to speak to the man in charge of the workers gathered. Symmone set her own bags next to his, her eyes bright with excitement as she watched her boss assume command of the site. Mikleo knew it had been her job to contact the needed workers. Everyone here was here because she’d invited them. On Heldalf’s behalf, of course. 

“What do you think?” she asked Mikleo, giving him a playful nudge. “Exciting stuff, right? I made sure to invite the top researchers and archeologists in Ladylake. We have the best equipment money can buy, and the strongest leader to make sure we all work hard enough. If something is in those ruins, you can bet on your life that we’ll find it.”

Mikelo straightened when he’d set down the last bag, surveying the scene. Everything had been prepared for Heldalf’s arrival. The tents were all set up, the equipment was working, the workers had been briefed. All they needed now was the go-ahead. His eyes scanned those gathered. Something was missing. 

“You didn’t invite any security,” he said to Symmone. 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Why would we need security?”

“In case Calamity Lord shows up.”

She laughed, loud and sharp. A mocking sort of laugh. 

“Please, Mikleo. Calamity Lord is a supervillain. I don’t think he’d concern himself with a silly little excavation.”

“He concerned himself with a silly little exhibit at the museum.”

Mikleo didn’t mean to sound as bitter as he did. He knew the attack hadn’t been Symmone’s fault. If anything, he should sympathise with her. She’d actually been there when Calamity Lord showed up. She’d _seen_ him kidnap all those people. She was lucky to have escaped herself, and here he was being selfish and forcing her to keep reliving what was probably the most terrifying experience of her life. But... he just couldn’t help it.

Symmone was the only window he had into that attack. All of their security tapes had been taken after the incident, even the secret one that only he, Symmone and Heldalf knew about. Had Calamity Lord threatened her to tell him where it was? Had he said anything else which could help clue the police in on what he was planning for his next attack? Why was her whole account of the incident so lacking, when she’d had the perfect vantage point to see it unfold? 

Even now, when Mikleo had just brought it up, she did nothing more than raise a bored eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously?” she said. “You’re still going on about that?”

“Of course,” Mikleo said. “I’m not going to stop going on about it until the police have caught him and he’s behind bars.”

Symmone sighed dramatically, but whatever sarcastic answer she was about to give was halted when Heldalf called everyone over. He had a map spread over one of the larger tables, with crude pencil lines scribbled over it. Mikleo recognised the map immediately. An identical one used to hang on the wall of his uncle’s study: a map of the Gallahad ruins. Of course, now some alterations would need to be made. 

He listened intently as Heldalf allocated tasks and separated the trained archeologists into groups. The wall that had collapsed came off the main chamber, but Heldalf wanted people to scan the rest of the ruins in case any other corridors had opened up. Mikleo’s eyebrows went up when Heldalf said that he would be exploring the new corridor, along with two of the archeologists. Symmone and Mikleo would trail behind them with notebooks to document the exploration and findings while the professionals worked. 

“If anyone finds anything, and I mean _anything_ ,” Heldalf glared around the table, meeting everyone’s eyes with his own hardened ones, “you are to report it to me immediately via the radios. I don’t want anything disturbed unless I have given permission. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, mumbling a timid agreement. Mikleo watched his boss with pinched brows. It was strange. It almost seemed like he had something in mind that he wanted to find. But Mikleo knew better than to ask him in front of all these people. He was still surprised that he’d been given one of the more exciting jobs to do, especially seeing as how often the two of them butted heads.   

“Let’s go then, partner,” Symmone said, waggling her eyebrows. 

She already had her hard hat on, the small light momentarily blinding Mikleo. He didn’t need to be told twice. His heart was racing as he strapped on his own helmet. And when he took his first step into the ruins, he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.  

“Check you out,” Symmone said, grinning. “There’s normally only one thing that puts such a look on your face.” 

The darkness of the ruins hid Mikleo’s blush. Symmone was right. The only time he felt this elated was when he was with Sorey. It was stupid really - they only did normal things together, like movie nights, dinner, shopping, walks in the park, visiting different parts of Ladylake. Sometimes he visited Sorey at university, and sometimes Sorey came to see him at the museum. Yet no matter the activity, no matter how repetitive or ordinary it may be, Mikleo always felt a very un-ordinary sort of joy. A rush of warmth, like his blood had been spiked by something hot and gooey. And sometimes, like now, a faint blush and a smile that could rival Sorey’s goofiest expression. 

But, as they moved deeper into the ruins, and the air became damp and musky, Mikleo’s expression fell. This was exciting - probably one of the most exciting chances he’d ever get. But... he couldn’t help but think how much more exciting it’d be with Sorey beside him. Instead of the little dark-haired gremlin who’d found employment at the help desk. 

“This is it.” Heldalf held up a hand to stop their party. The new corridor was right in front of them. 

Mikleo craned his neck to get a better look. The corridor was too long for him to see down, even with the headlight, but he did feel a slight breeze on his face. A new scent reached him - something warm and slightly smokey. Would they find charred remains down there? He made a quick note of the new smell before Heldalf waved them onwards. 

Heldalf and the archeologists were quick to make their way down the corridor, but Mikleo hung back, noting the markings that wrapped around the walls, floor and ceiling, as if it were a continuous surface. To his displeasure, Symmone stayed back with him. 

“Good eye,” she said, jotting down a rough sketch of the markings. “You’ve always been good at that haven’t you? Picking up details that others miss.”

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” Mikleo said, frowning. 

He wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. It came away wet with sweat. 

“It’s something Heldalf has always been quite envious of,” Symmone continued, ignoring his comment. “He’s admires you for that quality, but he also despises you for it. Course, that’s not news to you, right?” 

“We should keep moving.” Heldalf and the others had almost disappeared into the darkness ahead. “He’ll get mad if we fall behind.”

“At you, maybe, but not me,” Symmone said smugly, hugging the notebook to her chest. “He can’t get mad at me. He owes me too much.”

The corridor opened up into a grand cavern, with the same markings running up the walls in individual lines. Symmone gasped audibly, and immediately began scribbling away in her notebook. Mikleo frowned. It seemed lighter in here. But... where was the light coming from?

“This is splendid. Just splendid,” Heldalf said, admiring the cavern with obvious delight. 

There were two more corridors joining onto the cavern, each equidistant from the one they’d entered through. The ground sloped downwards to the centre of the cavern, where a perfectly circular opening had been cut deep into the earth. Heldalf and the archeologists peered into it, muttering about how there was no way to know how far down it went. 

“Make a note of it,” Heldalf barked. “We’ll gather the appropriate equipment after this and venture down.”

“What do you suppose it is?” one of the archeologists asked. “The opening to a well? I wonder if it connects to the waters of Ladylake?”

Mikleo circled around the cavern, eyes on the ceiling. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how an ancient culture had created something so breath-taking. They had carved out the inside of a mountain, and not a single supporting structure seemed to be holding the roof in place. Amazing. 

“Noticed anything?” Symmone asked, appearing at his side once again. 

Mikleo shook his head. 

“Nothing major. But I don’t think that hole is a well. If it was, then the sloping floor means that everything on the ground would fall into their drinking water. A culture capable on crafting structures like this wouldn’t implement such a design flaw.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Symmone said, watching as the archeologists bent to measure the hole with lengths of measuring tape. “You’re always right. Seriously, Mikleo, why do you have your heart set on going to university? Get on Heldalf’s good side, and you could start building your career right here, right now.”

Mikleo couldn’t help but smirk. 

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” he said. “Besides, I _want_ to go to university. I want to learn new things.”

“Are you sure that’s the reason?” Symmone asked slyly, giving him a knowing look. “Are you sure you don’t want to go just so you can spend all your time with a certain green-eyed someone?”

Mikleo purposefully kept his eyes on the opposite wall. But it was a lose-lose situation. If he met Symmone’s eyes, she’d see his embarrassment. And if he ignored her, as he was doing now, she’d pick up on him being out of character. She giggled, letting him know that her trap had already caught him out. 

“So classic and sweet,” she said. “The crush on the childhood friend. Course, anyone with eyes could see you’ve got it bad for him. You visibly light up every time he comes into the museum.”

Mikleo frowned. 

“Is it really that obvious?”

“No. I’d say the changes that happen to you when you’re in his presence are too subtle for most people to notice. But hey, I guess you’re not the only one here with an eye for noticing things.” She winked at him. “The only difference is that you use your power for good, and I use mine for evil.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then she hastily added, “By which I mean for gossip and stirring up arguments and all that stuff. You know what I’m like.”

Mikleo slowly turned his head to look at her. She was chewing on her lip with her hands behind her back. 

“I love how you felt the need to clarify that,” he said, trying not to sound too serious. “What, do you think I’d assume you were a villain or something?”

Symmone shrugged nonchalantly, and Mikleo decided it was time to get back to work. Heldalf and the others were in an intense discussion about how to proceed. Should they split into groups, or stay together? Which corridor should be ventured down first? He decided to take a closer look at the ground around the hole, in case the markings revealed its purpose. 

“It’s a real shame though,” Symmone said. “That your crush will never amount to anything. I mean, seriously Mikleo. I know you’re an ambitious guy, but an Elysia? Do you really think you stand a chance with someone from such a prestigious family?”

“Of course not,” Mikleo said. _That’s why I’ve never told him._ “How is it we’re talking about that again? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were deliberately trying to change the subject.”

Mikleo meant it as a joking comment, but Symmone didn’t bite back with her usual sarcasm. Something he’d said had struck an off-note with her. But what? He pretended to be examining his notes while he rewound their conversation in his head, trying to pick up on anything unusual. 

_You’re not the only one with an eye for noticing things._ So Symmone wasn’t as dense as she pretended to be. Mikleo could have guessed that without her help. You didn’t work alongside Heldalf for as long as she had without knowing a thing or two. He could see how hiding her observational skills would be an advantage, it would make people more loose-lipped around her, more likely to divulge secrets they assumed would go straight over her head. 

_But then why was she so unhelpful when Alisha was asking her questions?_ After his own interview with the Commissioner, Mikleo had asked about his co-worker’s answers. Alisha wasn’t allowed to divulge specific information, of course, but she had mentioned that Symmone’s account of the attack was too lacking in detail to be of any use. 

_It’s probably the shock,_ she’d said. 

But Alisha didn’t know Symmone like Mikleo did. He knew Symmone didn’t get shaken up easily. When they’d arrived at the museum, she hadn’t been trembling or wide-eyed. She’d been concerned, as would be expected, but she showed no signs of distress that would hinder the extremely detailed report she was capable of giving to the police. So then why...

_I use mine for evil._

Mikleo looked up from his notes, appalled by his own reasoning. Shame on him for thinking such things. Symmone wasn’t a bad person. She was playful and sometimes spiteful, but she wasn’t capable of the atrocities that Calamity Lord had committed. She couldn’t be in league with him. Although...

Although it would explain why she’d clarified what she’d meant by ‘evil’. And why she’d tried to change the topic so quickly. _But this is Symmone. I know Symmone. She couldn’t... She wouldn’t..._

He realised he’d been silent for far too long. The chatter between Heldalf and the archeologists had faded as they’d ventured down another corridor. Symmone was watching him with a curious expression. He was careful, when he met her eyes, not to let his suspicions show. 

“What’ve you noticed now?” she asked sweetly. 

“Nothing much,” he muttered, chewing on the end of his pen. _Ask her. Even if it just results in her laughing at you, you need to lay this suspicion to rest._ “It’s just... I was thinking about the museum attack again.”

Symmone rolled her eyes aggressively. 

“Mikleo,” she groaned. 

“I know. I’m sorry. But I can’t stop wondering about what you saw. You were right there, Symmone, right in the center of it. But when the Commissioner asked, you gave her nothing.”

“Just wait till you find yourself in the middle of a major crime,” she said, clearly frustrated by his questioning. She turned away to copy the markings from the wall. “We’ll see how wonderful your memory is then.”

“Horror doesn’t blind the eye though. It enhances it. A scene like that would be burned into your mind. Every detail.” Mikleo couldn’t hear her pen scratching against the paper any more. “It’s almost like you were trying to protect Calamity Lor-”

Mikleo’s breath left him as he felt himself stumble, knocked off balance by the slightest of touches against his back. The notebook and pen fell from his grasp. He reached out blindly for something, _anything_ , to cling onto, but there was nothing around him. Before he could open his mouth to shout, he was already falling into the darkness of the hole. 

For a few moments, he was weightless. But then the ground met him from below. He struck it hard, landing on his side. Pain shot through his arm like a bolt of lightning, but it didn’t stop there. He gasped for air as he began to roll, pain bursting behind his eyelids every time his weight settled on his side. His other arm, the one that could still be moved, tried to grip at the earth, to stop his body from rolling any further down the slope the darkness had concealed, but the pain had already weakened him. He could do nothing but roll and hurt, any sounds he might have made getting caught in his throat. 

Finally, he collided with something that must have been stone. It knocked what little breath remained from him, making his head spin. The darkness was all around him. He couldn’t even tell if his eyes were still open, and he hadn’t the strength to touch his face and check. The last thing he heard, before his consciousness drifted away, was the sound of something smashing. 

 

“ _Mikleo! Mikleo! Can you hear us?_ ”

The voices, shouting his name, sounded distant and desperate. But they didn’t stir any urgency within him. Certainly not enough for him to call back. He felt strangely light and warm, like he was floating in a hot spring. He would be quite happy staying here, surrounded by the dark. 

The pain in his side was a sharp reminder of how far he’d fallen. It stabbed at his senses as he tried to wake, not allowing him to focus his thoughts. He wanted to drift back to sleep, back to the numbness of the shadows, but a light was creeping towards him, demanding his eyes to stay open. 

_“I’ve found him! He’s over here!”_

As the light came closer and closer, the darkness yielded its secrets. Mikleo’s lidded eyes ran along the walls, skipping over details he would have found alarming if he’d been fully conscious. _Carvings of men with weapons. People lying on alters with knives in their chests. Blood and fire and carnage, splashed across the wall in vibrant reds and oranges._

And then his eyes stopped on something quite alarming, something that had no place being in historic ruins. Even through his hazy state, Mikleo’s eyes knew to widen. Even those who were rushing to his aid slowed in their steps when they saw it. It was impossible not to. It was the find of the decade- no - the find of the century! The most significant find anyone had ever found. And he’d been the first to see it. 

Mikleo chuckled, even though doing so made his vision start to spin. _Dammit_.

“You win, Sorey,” he whispered. 

He’d never thought it possible, but his friend had been right. And now, everything they thought they knew was about to change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing from Mikleo's point of view. Maybe I'll do it some more throughout the story! :D


End file.
